The fireworks outside the window burst into bloom, fleeting in the pitch-black night.
The old man gently wiped away the tears brimming at the corner of his eyes, sitting on the bed and sighing for a long time.
He traced the woman's face in the photo with his gaze, as if to imprint her in his heart.
After a long while, he shook his head and placed the photo back on the countertop.
Since he had let her go, how could he expect her to return just because of his own wishes? Amanda, too, most likely did not wish to return...
The old man sighed, shook his head again, feeling the loneliness about to overflow within him.
He truly treated Amanda Smith as his own child, loves both the core and the surface equally. Amanda's departure was like having a piece of his flesh ripped out, a direct hit to the core. How could he not feel pain?