Not So Confident

"Ling Xin...?" Mr. Mo said in a shaky voice. "Wife?"

"Hello, this is China Emergency Hotline, what's your emergency?" The automated female voice came out of the phone.

"My wife... isn't breathing," He whispered.

"Sir. I will need you to speak up," The caller spoke. "Or else I cannot—"

"My wife is dead!" Mr. Mo furiously shouted, slamming the phone on the floor. The burst of action massively cracked the black screen, causing the emergency call to break up. The screen slightly glitched, visibly showing multicolored of vibrant blues, greens, and whites.

He deeply inhaled and exhaled in short and fast bursts. The rapid thumping of his heart interlaced in his mind, he could feel the lively sound from within him but it was almost like... it came from her.

"Ling Xin... is that yours?" Mr. Mo gently asked. "Is that your heart?"

The realization was slow, reflecting his sorrow. Quiet tears slowly fell out of his eyes, rolling down his aged cheeks. He tightly gripped onto her cold hands, stroking them together to make them warmer. Perhaps, then... she wouldn't feel so dead.

"No, no.. she can't be dead," His raspy voice croaked. "She's... she's too alive. Come on, Ling Xin.. Come on, you have to be."

The thin man tenderly palmed his beautiful wife's face that was almost as calm as the sea. His placid eyes were reddening as he continuously stroke her cold, delicate hands. He twitched as he was forced to understand that... she wouldn't wake up.

Ling Xin, how could you leave me behind? I loved you...

Yi Fan. That brat did this, right? He f**king killed you, his own mother. I'm gonna kill that assh*le!

Mr. Mo mustered up the courage to stand up from his battered knees, gunning for the sharp kitchen knife on the counter. No car would kill Yi Fan, only The Man can. He wouldn't let some piece of metal kill Yi Fan before he could get a stab at it! Suddenly, two long arms quickly reached for the cold knife and nimbly swiped it off the table.

"Don't..." A faint whisper emerged. "Don't do it."

Mr. Mo was completely stunned. He knew this all too familiar voice. The sweet, melodic voice that accompanied his lonely days of failure and pain. She was the one who kept him alive, she was his savior. The woman of his life who supported him when no one did as his alcoholic father beat him up every day. He hastily glanced back, but there wasn't even a shadow.

"Everything will be all right," The calming, peaceful voice reappeared. "No one was at fault here. Not you, your son, or your wife."

A fleeting wind brushed against his cheek, its warm embrace enveloping his face.

"You're still too inexperienced to comprehend the gravity of your actions," She said. "But you are a father. So act like it."

The floating wind left. And so did the voice.

"Thank you..." Mr. Mo softly said. "Mother."

Perhaps, no one was at fault for these tragic events. A man unconsciously following after his father's footsteps, relaying the same negative influence on his son. Maybe some people just can't change. Maybe they did, but you could never see it. In the end, a family is a family and needs to support each other.