After Losing His Memory, He Begged My Forgiveness Novel Chapter 9 – The First Smile
The next morning, Lily woke up to her daughter’s arms wrapped tightly around her.
“Mommy,” she whispered, voice muffled against Lily’s chest. “Were you crying last night?”
Lily hesitated. Then nodded. “A little.”
“Did he make you cry again?”
“No, sweetheart,” she said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “This time… he apologized.”
Her daughter frowned. “Like, really apologized?”
Lily thought about the letter, the trembling handwriting, the way it hadn’t once tried to defend what he’d done.
“Yes. Really.”
Her daughter was quiet for a while, then asked, “Does that mean you like him again?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lily said honestly. “It’s complicated.”
She nodded as if she understood, though she couldn’t possibly.
“But…” Lily added, “he’s trying to be better.”
Later that day, Lily found her daughter sitting on the couch with Mr. Bun in her lap, facing the front door.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Waiting,” the girl said simply.
“For what?”
She looked up. “If he really meant sorry, he’ll come back.”
He did.
That afternoon, there was a knock on the door.
John stood outside, awkwardly holding a children’s picture book and a small bouquet of violets—Lily’s favorite.
“I thought I could read to her,” he said quickly, before Lily could shut the door. “I know I don’t deserve to yet, but… I want to try.”
Lily looked down at the book. It was one her daughter used to love when she was little, about a lost bunny trying to find its way home.
“Wait here,” she said.
She went inside, knelt beside her daughter, and asked, “Do you want to let him read you a story?”
Her daughter was silent for a long time. Then nodded, just once.
Lily opened the door wider. “She said yes.”
John stepped inside like he was crossing sacred ground.
The living room felt strangely quiet as he sat on the floor, carefully opening the book like it might break. Her daughter curled up on the edge of the rug, watching him cautiously.
And then… he began to read.
At first, his voice was unsteady. But as the bunny in the story searched for its way back, John’s voice grew softer, steadier.
Halfway through, Lily looked up from the dishes she was pretending to wash—and saw something that stopped her.
Her daughter was smiling.
Just a little.
But a smile, nonetheless.
That night, after John left, Lily found her daughter sitting in bed with Mr. Bun in her arms.
“He wasn’t bad,” she mumbled.
“No,” Lily agreed, pulling the blanket up over her. “He wasn’t.”
Her daughter blinked sleepily. “Maybe he’s still sick. But maybe… not sick-sick anymore.”
Lily smiled, brushing a hand across her forehead. “Maybe.”
Outside, the city lights flickered quietly.
Something, however small, had shifted.
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