Souvenir - Chapter 3.6

But comparing my family’s history to hers—

The gap was too wide.

I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

—

Finally, we reached the bridge.

There were many parked cars—people who had come to admire the view.

Even outside, couples lingered along the railings, wrapped in their own private worlds.

I didn’t want to step out of the car, so I parked at a secluded shoulder, away from the others.

The radio was on—just random background noise.

Normally, when I had a woman in my car, I would play classical music to set the mood.

But tonight, I didn’t bother.

Vera reached into her small handbag, carefully pulling out her wallet.

She extracted a photo, handling it delicately, as if afraid of damaging it.

It was a small, cut-out picture—the size of a receipt.

A young girl with blonde hair and deep emerald eyes smiled at the camera.

She looked exactly like Vera.

If I hadn’t been told, I would have assumed it was a childhood photo of Vera herself.

“This was taken when she was eight. What do you think? Does she look like me?”

“It’s uncanny. Like a perfect replica of you.”

“She’s my mirror.”

Her voice was fragile, almost inaudible.

But her tone was clear and beautiful.

—

“Can I step outside for a moment? I’d like to look at the night view.”

She was hesitant.

I hesitated too.

For some reason, I still didn’t like the idea of being seen in public with a prostitute.

But no one would notice us here.

Even if they did, no one would care.

“Alright.”

We both stepped out of the car.

The view was breathtaking—Manhattan glittered in the distance, lights twinkling like endless constellations.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Manhattan’s night view is always stunning.”

“Yeah. I come here sometimes just to take it all in.”

“Do you visit often?”

“Every now and then. No matter how many times I come, this view reminds me of what this city represents.”

“Always changing, always moving forward—it feels exhausting.”

“That’s what I love about it. The city never sleeps.”

Vera chuckled.

“I’ve never lived in a place like yours. I can’t even imagine it.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

She laughed again—soft, self-deprecating.

“Someone like me could never belong in a beautiful home like yours.”

I turned to her.

She was bathed in soft golden light from the bridge’s lamps.

She looked strangely radiant, standing against the illuminated skyline.

“Why don’t you come over sometime?”

The words slipped out naturally.

I had never invited a woman like her to my home before.

But tonight, I was a different person.

And tonight, I wanted to see where this went.

Vera’s compliments weren’t unwelcome. I liked conversations that subtly linked to past memories. Perhaps I was simply looking forward to it.

I had invited women to my house before, both for work and personal reasons, but never had a woman come simply because she was interested in the house itself. I was beginning to think Vera might be a little different from the others—an interesting woman, perhaps.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got carried away,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, I’d love for you to visit my home sometime. And I want you to meet Alex as well.”

“Alright. But we need to deal with this situation quickly before it escalates. I’ve heard too many cases where things spiral out of control, and by the time someone gets seriously hurt, it’s already too late.”

“Thank you. You’re right. It’s not too bad yet, but you never know what might happen.”

As she spoke, she rubbed her arms in a nervous gesture, as if trying to shield herself from an unseen force. It made me wonder if she had suffered more than just visible bruises—perhaps she was enduring something even worse, something psychological. There were no obvious marks on her body, but that didn’t mean the situation wouldn’t escalate further.

“Vera… do you still love him?”