75
Marriage, a new life, a little home-until a journey he had no choice but to make took him away, and a high fever stole that tiny breath.
She combed through every communication record she could find and sought confirmation from every possible institution.
The answers drove into her palm like rusty nails.
When he returned, hollow eyes and trembling questions greeted him: where did the money come from? Where exactly did he go every day? He opened his mouth, but only silence rose in his throat.
The child was gone.
The lies had shattered.
When she rushed into the rain, the fine, dense drizzle she had once loved most had become a whip lashing everything in the world.
Mud and rocks poured down the hillside. After the muffled crash, only the steady beeping of hospital equipment remained.
That face showed no more change, made no more sound, like a flower sealed in ice.
He tried everything he could think of: reading old letters, playing her favorite music, bringing flowers from every season.
Until one day, he happened to place a baby's soft cap beside her bed-and the faintest curve suddenly lifted the corners of her mouth.
From then on, wherever he went, he never took off that ridiculous outfit.
Mocking looks and hushed snickers no longer mattered.
As long as the corners of her lips lifted slightly when she saw him like this, that was enough.
"Senor Pink."
The voice came from his left.
A man in a black suit leaned against a corridor pillar, the cigarette between his fingers glowing and dimming. "Do what you think is right."
Doflamingo's younger brother paused, his lenses reflecting a cold light. "The whole group is behind you."
Pica froze for a moment.
Rumor had it that this man's perception could reach