I went outside the room and called Serena.

The only response was the mechanical, cold voice.

I called many times, with the same result. The text messages got no response.

My heart sank a little more.

I had to call her assistant.

The assistant said, “Ms. Serena had me book a plane ticket to New York yesterday, and she’s just getting on the plane now.”

“Does she have something going on there?”

The assistant paused for a few seconds before answering, “She’s going to Disney…”

My heart completely sank, and I hung up the phone.

I stood in the corridor, silent for a long time.

I didn’t know how to tell Grandma.

Until I heard the "beep beep" sound of the machine in the room, I rushed in.

Grandma struggled to raise her hand, and the doctors pushed me aside, giving her emergency treatment.

In the end, I watched Grandma’s hand fall.

The sun outside the window had also set.

My Grandma was gone.

My last living relative was gone.

I arranged a grand funeral for my Grandma.

In the middle of the funeral, Serena returned my call.

I didn't answer.

The Mayer parents also came.

Mr. Mayer rarely spoke, but he asked, “Where’s Serena? Why isn’t she here for such an important occasion?”

Mrs. Mayer quickly said, “Maybe she’s busy.”

Yes, she was busy. Busy in Disney.

I wore black, and I knelt in front of Grandma’s grave, bowing again and again.

I didn't go home for two consecutive days; I stayed in the company to work and distract myself.

Grandma used to call me when I got off work, telling me not to work too hard.

She would also give me some pointers when I encountered difficulties at work.

But now?

She was gone.

There was no one in this world who cared about me.

At night, I was still working overtime at the company, and Serena suddenly came.

She looked at me, but didn’t say anything.

I stopped working and looked at her, saying softly, “Serena, I don’t want to see you now.”

She went out and closed the door.

When I went to get water, I saw that she was still waiting for me at the door.

She looked like she wanted to say something but hesitated.

In the end, she spoke, “I’m sorry, I forgot to turn on my phone after I went out.”

We’d been married for seven years.

This was the first time she had apologized to me.

But she never loved me, so her absence at my Grandma’s funeral should be understood.

But at this moment, I couldn’t understand her, and I couldn’t say “it’s okay.”