Ten years ago, Zoe made a pact with me: if her first love ever returned, we would get divorced. I agreed without hesitation because I owed her a debt of gratitude. I vividly remember the scene of the car accident—the blood on the ground, the pungent smell of gasoline. My parents and sister lay motionless beside me, their bodies a blur of blood and flesh, the night filled with despair and leaking gasoline.
That's when Zoe appeared. Still wearing her motorcycle helmet, she dragged my family and me out of the wreckage with all her might. In my daze, I saw flames surge, thinking the car might explode. But Zoe didn't back down; clenching her teeth, she pulled each of us out of danger with her blood-soaked hands.
The car didn't explode, but the fire that followed consumed the car my family had bought with our savings, destroying my life as well. My parents and sister were declared dead on arrival, while I, wrapped in thick bandages, lay in the hospital like a mummy, staring blankly at the ceiling, shedding tears for many days.
Zoe was always there, covering my medical bills, finding a nurse for me. Though she couldn't see my face under the bandages, she'd look into my eyes with an encouraging smile. Her smile was beautiful. During those countless nights of despair, in dreams where I repeatedly contemplated suicide, I always remembered Zoe's smile.
She gave me a second chance at life, saved my family from being reduced to ashes in that accident, and became a beacon of light in that dark night. Following that light, I endured many long nights, bearing all the torment that illness brought.
Finally, I was discharged from the hospital, the bandages on my face removed. I was scarred, but fortunately, the scars on my face were minor and not disfiguring. On the day of my discharge, I thought Zoe would come to see me, but she didn't.
Months later, when we met again, she was drunk in a bar, and I was singing love songs with a voice that was still decent. Zoe recognized me instantly, drunkenly hooking my chin, saying, "Handsome boy, you sing well. Come, drink with me!" I was stunned, not expecting my savior to have such a side.
I silently drank with her as she became more intoxicated, eventually crying about the love she had lost to another country. When I asked why he went abroad, she didn't answer, only saying that there are too many people in this world who love each other but can't be together. "Your voice is so much like his; I'll come to find you often…"