Ask Claire to regard Gomez as the original plot of Henry's sleeping in The Time Traveler's Wife.

suddenly, I saw it, and I understood: my friend, my guide and my brother-myself. Myself, only myself. Lonely self.

in 1973

and myself, slender as a leaf, thin as a trickle, I cried when I was thinking about it. I held him and held me for a long time.

1984

Maybe you are the person in my dream, maybe I am the person in your dream; Maybe we just live in each other's dreams, wake up the next morning and forget about each other.

In 1984

Her answer was so light that I had to make her say it again: "I thought you would marry me in the future."

1984

I'm afraid of the future. It seems to be a big box waiting for me to go in. I lay down, hoping that the rolling storm would not notice my existence.

In 1984

At this time, Claire was at the entrance of adolescence, with faith in one hand and growing doubts in the other. All she could do was to play with her hands in turn. Or try to pinch them together until they are one.

In 1984

I was speechless with Claire, who was young and old, completely different from all girls, and who knew that being different actually meant hardship.

1987

I looked at her with wide eyes, and there was something sophisticated and cruel in Claire's smile. This moment is like a watershed, a critical line between a sound year without male invasion and becoming a woman.

in 1998

I thought of my mother who sang lyric songs in summer, smiled at our reflection in the shop window glass and spun on the floor in a blue skirt. She loves me, and I have never doubted her love. Lucia is as changeable as the wind. The poem that Claire holds in her hand is evidence, eternal and irrefutable. It is a snapshot of frozen feelings. I looked at the paper all over the floor and felt relieved. In this chaos, it finally surfaced and became Claire's life-saving boat.

2

I walked out the back door and stood by the blackberry bush. In the sun, our children, who were lifeless, were wrapped in silky Japanese goose skin paper and carefully slept in wooden boxes in the afternoon before this evening. They rest quietly in the shadow of roses. Although I feel the heat of the sun, I tremble for them. In the depths of the garden, in the warm June, they are cold.

In 2

Claire, who was fifteen years old, was not the same woman who tortured me for years, who insisted on refusing to give up giving birth, who challenged death and despair, and who turned sex into a battlefield full of corpses.

2

At that moment, I loved her more than life.

In 21

On the screen is a world weather map, or the Milky Way, a whirlpool full of stars. Or a baby.

In 211

He made these boxes because he was lonely. He has no one to love. He makes these boxes so that he can love them. People will know that he exists because the bird is free. The box is where the bird hides. In it, the bird will feel safe. He also wants freedom and wants peace. These boxes are for himself, so that he can become a bird.

In 211

This magical child gave me endless love, which made me deeply intoxicated. She clung to me as if it were a part of my body, as if we would never be separated, as if we had a whole world of time. I clung to this moment, struggling against fatigue and competing with the powerful gravity of time.

211

Claire is only a few steps away from me. I used all my will to look at Claire, who is far away, and tried my best to speak clearly. "I love you."

in 22

I used two pink crayons, one is light pink similar to the inner wall of a shell, and the other is pink flesh of raw tuna. I quickly put a few strokes on Elba's skin, as if Elba's skin had long been hidden in paper, and I just removed some transparent shielding layers.

The painting was completed in 22. It is a record-I love you, I gave birth to you, and I drew this painting for you-when I leave, Henry leaves, even Alba leaves, and it will continue to tell people that we created you, and you are here, here and now.

Alba opened her eyes and smiled.

One year

I don't know how to live without you. But I hope to see you walking freely in the sun, without your shining long hair.

253

This time, I know that Henry will come, and eventually. I sometimes wonder whether such preparation and such expectation will hinder the miracle. But I have no choice. He's coming, and I'm here.