Capone stepped out of the bedroom, a thin shirt beneath his overcoat.
He descended the stairs slowly, as though summoning every ounce of strength to push open the door to the room below.
Since Sophia had gone, that room had remained untouched. No one was allowed inside. Everything was just as it had been on the day she left.
By the bedside hung a magnetic board, covered in colorful sticky notes with pregnancy reminders:
- Don't wash your hair with cold water.
- Eat less watermelon.
- …
His handwriting sprawled across the notes in a messy, vigorous scrawl. Four years of time had weathered the ink, smudging it into faded stains.
Back then, she'd been angry with him. Even looking at his handwriting irritated her. Whenever he wrote a note, she'd tear it down. And when she tore it down, he'd write it again. Eventually, she was the one who gave up, letting him have his way.
That was how they were—she retreated while he advanced, a constant back-and-forth. They thought they were running in circles, but without realizing it, their love had grown deep.
Sophia had also written notes, though she preferred to use colorful slips of paper rather than the magnetic board. Slowly, she began to respond to him. He had gathered all her notes into a small wooden box. When he missed her, he would take them out one by one to read, even laminating each piece to preserve them.
He spread the notes across the table, their laminated edges curling slightly with age. Carefully, he smoothed them down, afraid of damaging even a single one.
Her handwriting was round and chubby, just like her—a style she jokingly called "bubble letters." Even his name, written in her hand, looked soft and endearing.
He remembered every word she had written. He could still picture her expressions—sometimes sweet, sometimes teasing—as she penned those notes.
The last message she wrote for him was Happy Birthday . She had written it on the day she left—his birthday.
They had made two birthday cakes that day, crafting them together by hand. But he hadn't taken a single bite.
Her room was still filled with picture books and nursery rhymes, the materials he had once chosen for prenatal education.
Capone sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, opening one of the books. It depicted a lively forest party, with countless little animals surrounding a tiny princess. It was originally a sound book that could play songs, but its batteries had long since died. The music was gone, leaving only the princess, her wide eyes gazing up at him with a cheerful smile.
A haze clouded his vision, blurring the pictures and words. Startled, he closed the book quickly, deciding to look for a button battery to bring it back to life.
He searched through every drawer and cabinet, refusing to stop until the fog in his eyes cleared. Yet his efforts were in vain.
Somewhere along the way, he forgot what he was even looking for. All he knew was that he couldn't allow himself to pause. It reminded him of the first few months after Sophia's disappearance. Back then, if he wasn't working himself to exhaustion, he felt like he wouldn't survive.
His hands and feet were frozen stiff by the time he finished tidying Sophia's room. Near the window, nestled among her stuffed toys, he found the deep purple shell bracelet.
He cradled it in his hands as if it were a treasure. He didn't need to summon the memory—buying the bracelet and gifting it to her played vividly in his mind.
That night market on the island… He had returned there alone so many times.
He refused to accept her death. If she's alive, I'll see her again. If she's dead, I'll find her body. Without a corpse, he couldn't believe Sophia was truly gone. But if she wasn't dead, why hadn't she come back to him? Had she lost her memory? Was she injured? Or was there some other reason?
The night market had been her favorite. He thought that maybe, even if she had lost her memory or couldn't face him anymore, she might still visit the market out of habit. Perhaps fate would let them meet again.
But no. Not once had he seen her there.
Even so, he still couldn't admit that she was gone.
Because he could still see her. Not in his dreams, yet not in reality either.
He went back upstairs, his movements light and deliberate. Sitting on the third-floor staircase, he gazed out the window, where a thin layer of snow had already settled on the branches.
The air was crisp and cold, and though the coat draped over his shoulders slid to the ground, he seemed not to notice.
He remembered sitting here before—both of them in this exact spot. That time, she had been upset, refusing to eat her plate of spaghetti and cheekily asking him for a cigarette.
Capone's lips curled into the faintest smile as he lit a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily in the air, carrying its unique, sweet fragrance.
"Smoke less. It's bad for your health," she had scolded gently, her voice full of concern.
"I know," he murmured to the empty air, exhaling a wisp of smoke. "But I want to see you."
He could only meet her in illusions like this, a bittersweet reunion conjured by the nightshade leaves he mixed into the tobacco.
Sophia appeared beside him as if summoned by his longing. Her cheeks were rosy, her beauty even more radiant than before. She sat quietly, her presence calm and serene. If he didn't speak, she wouldn't either.
Was this what becoming a mother did to her? he wondered. Had it made her softer, more composed?
"Come here," he said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She leaned into his chest, her warmth almost convincing him it was real.
His gaze flitted to her belly, where he longed to ask a million questions but dared not utter a single one.
Is it a boy or a girl? Have they been good, listening to their mom?
Does the baby, like their mom, love being barefoot and hate wearing shoes?
His thoughts trailed off as he held her closer, afraid that if he let go, she would vanish into the cold silence of the house once more.
He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep again, but by the time dawn broke, Lucy found him in the same position, still clutching at the mirage he had created. He was holding nothing but himself, his solitary figure leaning against the wooden banister of the stairs.
His appearance reminded her of the first time she had seen him—just a boy, after being whipped by his father, asleep in the corner of the wall.
It dawned on her that this child she had watched grow up, who seemed to have everything, had never truly been happy.
"Capone, Capone! Wake up!"
Lucy was all too familiar with this scenario. After Sophia's accident, he had spent three months sitting in that very spot, night after night, until dawn.
"Wake up, child, you'll get sick if you keep this up!" She picked up the coat he had dropped on the ground and draped it over his shoulders, feeling the coldness of his body. She knew he must have been sitting there for hours again.
Capone slowly opened his eyes, squinting as he looked at Lucy, then asked, "Is it still snowing?"
"Yes, it's still snowing. The ground's covered in a layer."
Capone smiled faintly, shifting slightly, and placed his hand on Lucy's arm, almost like he was seeking his mother's support. He simply needed a little help to stand up; half of his body was numb from the cold.
"Did you dream of Sophia again?" she asked, noticing that he was still holding onto the purple-red shell bracelet. There was the faint scent of tobacco in the air.
"Yes," Capone nodded, his gaze dropping to the bracelet in his hand. Suddenly, he seemed to remember something and asked, "Lucy, where is the Rope of Love? Where did I put it?"
"It's with Marvin. You forgot? Last time, when you went to ask him for it, you returned it exactly as it was."
"Oh, really?"
He seemed to recall. Four years ago, he had taken it from Marvin, intending to give it to Sophia on her birthday. Unfortunately, he could never fulfill that wish.
That winter, the snow had already been falling for months, and it had been half a year since Sophia had gone missing. Joey, somehow, had come into contact with a feng shui master who claimed to be able to predict fate and destiny. The master said that if they didn't find a good resting place for Sophia's soul, it would never find peace. So, without consulting Capone, Joey took matters into his own hands and arranged for Sophia to be buried on the northern part of Mesha Island, even selecting the tombstone. He tried to convince Capone to let go of his obsession with searching and to accept that she was gone.
Capone had nearly shot the master in the head with his gun. Furious, he warned that anyone who dared to interfere again would lose their friendship with him. He destroyed the so-called grave, especially the small mound meant for their unborn child. It was almost as though blood was welling up in his eyes from the sheer pain.
Sitting on the ground, Capone pulled out the Rope of Love bracelet he always carried with him, imagining what it would have been like if Sophia's delicate hands had worn the emerald-like diamond, or how their child, once reaching a hundred days, would have grabbed it and tried to slip it onto their chubby arm.
He didn't know how long he sat there, buried in the heavy snow, the thick white flakes almost completely covering him. No one dared to approach him. Had it not been for Marvin slapping him awake, perhaps his head and the Rope of Love would have been crushed against the stone markers.
With his heart and soul torn apart, he was determined to follow her, even in death.
"You don't get to destroy what your mother left behind!" Marvin's words were unclear—whether he referred to Capone's life or the diamond bracelet that had guided him toward happiness.
Marvin took the Rope of Love back, telling him to think things through before coming to take it back again. Despite his frailty, leaning on a cane, Marvin struggled with each step in the snow, but his resolve was firm.
Capone hadn't realized how old Marvin had grown. He remembered the days when Marvin would sneakily apply medicine to his wounds and buy him candy during the New Year celebrations.