Allen walked on, the old man's words still echoing in his mind: "Let go of your sorrow, son."
Gate No. 1 of the city park stood just ahead. He stepped through the wide entrance, leaving behind the bustle of the street—and the memory of the hat store.
Inside, the noise of the city faded into the distance, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the faint hum of traffic. The air, though still humid, felt fresher here—carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Lamps lit the walkways, casting a warm glow across the greenery.
Benches dotted every path and grassy area. In the distance, children played, their laughter rising like music. Some bounced on spring riders, others spun around on merry-go-rounds, climbed monkey bars, or slid down colorful slides. Their parents sat nearby, smiling as they watched.
Seeing all this, Allen felt a little lighter. He walked toward the children's area and sat on an empty bench. Their bright, innocent smiles reminded him of a moment from five years ago.
He had sat in this same park, though in a different spot—next to a girl.
They, too, had been watching children play.
The girl had turned to him and said, "When we marry, I want our kids to come here. We'll play with them and give them the childhood we never had. We'll take them around the world with us on our adventures. What do you say, Allen?"
"Sure, Amy. As you wish," he had replied. "But first, you need to take your medicine. Then we can plan the future."
She had pouted. "Oh, you and your bitter medicine! Allen, live in the moment sometimes. Life's too short for bitter medicines and too much planning."
"Okay," he had said, chuckling. "But now—first, the dose."
Amy had giggled. "Fine! But only after you buy me a strawberry ice cream!"
"Alright, let's go," Allen had sighed, giving in. He had helped her into her wheelchair and gently pushed her toward Gate No. 2, where the food court stood.
Lost in that memory, Allen didn't notice the small ball that rolled up and hit his leg. It knocked him back to the present.
A little girl—no older than five—ran over. Her eyes were round with concern.
"Sorry, Big Uncle," she said in a tiny voice. "Can I get my ball back? And... oh no! Did it hurt?"
A smile formed on Allen's face. He knelt slightly.
"No, Big Girl. I'm not hurt. Your ball is over there in the grass. Wait here—I'll get it for you."
He walked over, picked up the ball, and returned. Kneeling again, he handed it to her.
"Here you go. And what's your name, little one?"
"My name is Marry," she said proudly.
"Alright, little Marry. Take care of yourself," Allen said with a gentle tone.
Just then, a boy of the same age came running over.
"Marry! Did you get the ball?"
"Yes! The Big Uncle helped me!" she said cheerfully.
The boy looked at Allen. "Thank you, sir!"
Allen just nodded with a soft smile.
"Let's go and play!" the boy said, but Marry shook her head.
"I'm tired! Let's go get ice cream at the food court!"
The boy laughed. "Okay!" And the two ran off together, toward their parents.
Allen watched them go, their small feet bouncing with joy.
A calm spread inside him. His chest felt a little lighter.
He took a deep breath and whispered,
"You were right, Amy. Children are a bundle of joy."