Spring had finally arrived.
In the early morning park, more and more people returned to their runs. Traffic flowed again through the streets. Lines reappeared at subway entrances. The city, like a machine that had once come to a halt, was slowly beginning to move again.
⸻
The company adopted a hybrid work model—three days in the office, the rest from home.
Yet with everything just resuming, the backlog of work made the pace even more intense than before the pandemic.
Sabrina found it nearly impossible to truly work from home. She had to visit clients, discuss design proposals, and go on-site to adjust details. Her schedule quickly filled up, her days constantly in motion.
⸻
After receiving the vaccine, Sabrina had only a mild fever for two days before recovering.
William's reaction was much stronger. It took him over a week to feel normal again. Not long after, he developed shingles, though fortunately he was now gradually recovering.
⸻
As the weather warmed, Sabrina resumed her morning runs.
The air was no longer biting cold. The streets were no longer empty.
That long-lost feeling was slowly returning—as if life were trying to find its way back to what it once was.
Everyone hoped things would fully recover soon.
⸻
Clara's long-planned Camino de Santiago journey had been forced to cancel.
The route she had prepared for so long now had no clear beginning again. Flights were limited, tickets expensive. The plan could only be postponed indefinitely.
⸻
Life seemed to be recovering—but not entirely.
The streets grew lively again. Offices lit up. Cafés reopened.
Yet people knew, deep down, that the traces of that extraordinary time still remained.
Every breath, every handshake, every trip outside carried a quiet sense of caution.
Recovery was not a sudden return—
but a slow process.
People moved forward, while uncertainty still lingered beneath the surface.
And those days—those difficult days—had already etched themselves deeply into memory.
⸻
Because of the sudden outbreak, Michael had been forced to postpone his plan to take his daughter to Beijing to bury half of Hongmei's ashes.
⸻
Now it was the spring of 2004.
March in Beijing was still cold.
Michael and Clara stepped off the plane. Haitao and Lihua came to meet them, arranging a hotel for their stay.
The next day, they would travel together to a cemetery in the outskirts of the city. The burial plot chosen for Hongmei was close to her father's—fulfilling her wish to be reunited with family.
⸻
In that cold early spring, just before Qingming Festival, Hongmei finally returned to her family.
Their mother, her mobility limited, followed them slowly, tears streaming down her face.
Lihua gently comforted her.
"She's home now. She can finally be with the family."
Even as her own tears fell uncontrollably, she tried to steady her mother—holding Clara tightly in her arms, as if she were holding her younger sister once again.
She wanted, somehow, to give the child a sense of warmth.
⸻
Clara had been undergoing therapy in New York for some time.
Michael said that recently, her smile had begun to return. Her personality was slowly becoming more lively again.
The therapy was clearly helping—and would need to continue once they returned.
⸻
Looking at Michael, Lihua felt a quiet heaviness.
His hair had turned completely white. His face had aged noticeably.
Her heart filled with concern—for Clara's future, for this fragile pair of father and daughter.
⸻
The scene at the cemetery lingered in her mind.
The next morning, Sabrina woke with tears still clinging to the corners of her eyes. The weight of it all felt almost tangible.
She rose and went to wash up.
In the mirror, she noticed a few more strands of gray at her temples.
Over the past year, too many plans had been delayed. Even taking care of herself had become a luxury.
⸻
Fortunately, her go-to Korean hairstylist, Jamie, had finally returned.
She first called Vivian, who had to accompany her daughter to a math class in Brooklyn that afternoon. So Sabrina reached out to Clara instead.
Clara happened to be free, and they agreed to meet at the salon.
⸻
After seeing her hair, Clara said gently:
"You don't need to dye it completely. Keep the natural gray—just add layers. 'Grandma gray' is actually very in style now. It suits you."
Jamie agreed.
Instead of full coloring, he added subtle highlights and shaped the hair into clean, soft layers.
⸻
When the cape was removed, the reflection in the mirror looked unexpectedly refined.
There was no need to hide the passage of time—
only to wear it with ease.
Sabrina smiled.
"Listening to a designer was definitely the right choice."
⸻
Relaxed now, she asked about Clara's father.
"He's relatively stable," Clara said. "Just not much appetite lately… and he's been more sleepy than usual. Otherwise, he's okay."
In that moment, they both chose to believe—
that things were slowly returning to normal.
⸻
Before leaving, they made plans to go with Vivian the following week to see a show in New York City's Broadway Theatre District.
It had been a long time since they had stepped into a theater.
The lights. The music.
That long-lost sense of ritual.
⸻
Night fell.
Sabrina had just arrived home when her phone suddenly rang.
It was Clara.
Her voice was urgent, trembling:
"My dad collapsed. When we got home, he wasn't responding. We called an ambulance—they're taking him to the hospital now."
⸻
The hospital's assessment was not optimistic.
Clara's father already had a chronic lung condition. This time, it seemed to be complicated by acute inflammation.
Recently, admissions among elderly patients had risen sharply.
The doctor spoke cautiously—offering no clear conclusion.
⸻
On the phone, Sabrina tried again and again to comfort Clara.
"Don't panic. Just stay with him. Take care of him first."
⸻
After the pandemic, it seemed many people's bodies had become more fragile.
Sabrina and William had both fallen ill not long ago. Though they had recovered, the memory of those days of persistent fever still lingered.
⸻
After hanging up, Sabrina sat quietly on the sofa.
The lightness and joy she had felt earlier in front of the mirror slowly faded.
⸻
Outside, city lights flickered.
The world remained lively.
Yet life seemed to sway endlessly—
between hope and uncertainty.
⸻
She let out a soft sigh.
Perhaps what we call "the end"
never arrives all at once.
⸻
For now,
the only thing she could do—
was to cherish the present moment.
Time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Tingting was about to graduate from middle school. Lately, the pressure from her studies had been intense. She gently asked her parents if she could move in with her grandmother. The apartment there was more spacious, and she would be able to study without being distracted by her younger siblings.
The two residential compounds were separated by only a single road. Her grandmother lived alone, and if Tingting moved in, she could also keep her company. Li Hua had no objections. She glanced at Haitao, who nodded in agreement. The elderly woman's health had not been very good; having someone nearby would provide reassurance for everyone.
Tingting had always been a thoughtful and responsible child. Over the years, she had taken on the daily task of walking her younger siblings to and from school, easing much of the burden on the family. She said that even after moving, she would still come by every morning to go to school with them, and after school, she would walk them home before returning to her grandmother's place.
Li Hua felt comforted hearing this. Tingting's maturity brought her both relief and quiet gratitude. As the children grew older, Li Hua's own pressures gradually eased. Even the weekly responsibility of accompanying her mother to therapy sessions on Saturday afternoons had now been taken over by Tingting.
The family usually gathered at the grandmother's home for Sunday lunch. Life moved along steadily. Li Hua hoped this calm, stable rhythm could continue, and that her children would grow up smoothly, while her mother's health improved day by day.
⸻
After recovering from their earlier illnesses, Sabrina and William rarely dined out anymore. Most of the time, they cooked at home. That Saturday, William prepared curry chicken and a fresh vegetable salad. The curry was from Trader Joe's, while the rest of the ingredients came from Costco—everything fresh and simple.
After lunch, Sabrina had arranged to meet a client at a café. This time, the meeting included not only the client but also his parents. They had recently purchased a secondhand apartment and hoped Sabrina's design could balance modern aesthetics with practical functionality.
She sat quietly by the window, waiting. The client was still on the way. In her hands, a cup of coffee had already begun to cool. Outside, people hurried past along the street.
A subtle feeling rose within her—part relief, part unease.
Relief that life was slowly returning to normal, that sunlight still fell on familiar streets. Yet beneath that was a lingering awareness: the shadows of the past had not completely faded. They remained as quiet reminders that peace and stability were never guaranteed.
She closed her eyes gently.
She thought of those suspended days—the helplessness, the frustration, the distance from friends and family, the exhaustion of juggling responsibilities. Life had tested her again and again, forcing her to face uncertainty, and to learn, slowly, how to cherish the ordinary.
"Perhaps this is what life is," she thought. "It falls apart, and then it gathers itself again."
Sunlight reflected off the café window, casting a soft, warm glow.
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
Fatigue and tension had not disappeared—but neither had hope. It was quietly taking root.
⸻
Recently, Tingting had seemed distracted. After returning home from school, she often appeared absent-minded. Her grandmother noticed and quietly mentioned to Li Hua, "She hasn't seemed quite herself lately. A boy came by the other day—well-mannered, polite."
Early Sunday morning, Tingting woke up unusually early.
Her grandmother's apartment was in an old residential compound. Outside the window stood a row of tall plane trees. Morning light filtered softly through the thin curtains, filling the room with a gentle warmth.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to quiet her thoughts.
She thought about her classmate who had come to see her the previous week. He had stood at the doorway, slightly nervous, smiling awkwardly, saying he was just passing by.
She had been nervous too—afraid her mother would find out, afraid her grandmother would notice.
But her grandmother seemed to understand everything, and said nothing.
Tingting let out a soft sigh and sat up.
From the kitchen came the sound of boiling water. Her grandmother was preparing breakfast.
"You're up?" her grandmother called, smiling. "Go wash your face, then wake your brother and sisters."
Tingting nodded.
⸻
After Sunday lunch, Li Hua gently took Tingting aside into another room.
Her voice was soft, her eyes full of concern.
"I know you're independent and very capable. You've done so much for the family. But right now, your studies should come first."
Tingting lowered her head, fingers twisting lightly at the edge of her clothes. She felt a bit nervous, but she understood her mother was not scolding her.
Li Hua took her hand gently.
"It's okay to like someone," she continued, "but you need to learn how to prioritize, how to manage your time. I believe you can do that."
⸻
That evening, Sabrina sent Clara a message asking about her father's condition at the hospital. There was no reply.
A faint unease crept in.
She called Vivian instead.
Vivian's voice carried quiet sorrow. "Clara's father passed away on the second day after being admitted. It all happened too suddenly. At least… he didn't suffer. He slipped away peacefully, while unconscious."
Stories like this had become more common. People had grown more cautious, especially the elderly.
After hanging up, Sabrina felt a heaviness settle in her chest. She sent Clara a short message: Take care. I'm so sorry for your loss.
That night, sleep did not come easily.
⸻
The next morning in New York, Sabrina woke early.
The sky outside was gray, the city not yet fully awake.
William was already in the kitchen making coffee. The faint aroma drifted through the air.
Her phone lit up.
A message from Clara:
"Thank you for your concern. I'll be okay. Eric and I are leaving for Spain at the end of the month."
The message was brief, but it felt like a small breeze lifting something heavy from Sabrina's heart.
She thought of the first time Clara had spoken about that journey—the path stretching across northern Spain.
The Camino.
People walked it carrying little, step by step, toward an unseen destination.
Some walked for faith. Others simply to make peace with themselves.
⸻
Sabrina looked out at the pale blue-gray sky.
A quiet thought rose within her—
As if a new journey, somewhere unseen, had already begun.
⸻
On the first night after stopping her medication, Clara couldn't sleep again.
She lay awake, chest tight, breathing shallow, as if the air itself had thinned.
In the early hours, she sat up in silence. The world outside was still.
Finally, she reached for the pills by her bedside, placed one on her tongue, and swallowed. Slowly, the medication took effect, and she drifted into a heavy sleep.
She had been getting better, little by little.
Therapy was helping. She had started going to yoga classes, stretching her stiff body in quiet rooms filled with soft music, focusing on her breathing, calming her heartbeat. Sunlight spilled across wooden floors. Life seemed to be returning to its path.
But the day her father died remained like an unhealed wound.
It had happened too suddenly.
At first, she couldn't sleep. Her heart raced uncontrollably. Then her emotions collapsed inward. Her hair fell out in clumps. She lost weight rapidly. She avoided calls, avoided people—as if distance could keep grief away.
She knew she had passed the darkest period.
But last night reminded her—
Recovery is never a straight line.
She decided to speak with her doctor again, to see if her medication could be gradually reduced, to ease the lingering drowsiness.
At the end of the month, she and Eric would travel to Spain.
The road her parents had never finished still stretched quietly ahead.
She wanted to walk that final stretch.
Not only to say goodbye—
But to complete something unfinished.