Chapter 3
936words
Mom and I sat side by side on the sofa like two judges about to deliver a verdict, silently watching him. On the dining table, the empty contraceptive pill pack and that damning hotel key card were neatly arranged.
The fatigue on Dad's face transformed into impatient vigilance when he saw us and the items on the table. He loosened his tie and casually tossed his briefcase onto the cabinet in the entryway.
"What's going on? Why the long faces?" he spoke first, his tone carrying a hint of condescending interrogation.
Mom's body was trembling slightly. She picked up the key card, her voice so hoarse it was barely coherent: "How long have you and Rachel... been together?"
Dad's gaze swept over Mom's trembling hand and her pale face. He didn't answer immediately, but instead walked to the bar to pour himself a glass of water. Those few seconds of silence drained the last bit of warmth from the living room.
He took a sip of water and turned around, his face showing no guilt, only the coldness that comes after being exposed.
"Three years."
Mom fell back against the sofa, the last glimmer of hope in her eyes completely extinguished.
"Why..." Mom's voice was as light as a breeze. "Why her? She's my sister..."
Dad looked as if he'd heard an extremely stupid question. He let out a cold laugh, filled with undisguised contempt.
"Why?" he repeated, slowly walking to the sofa and looking down at his nearly shattered wife. "Because Rachel understands me better. She's not like you, who only knows about daily chores, worrying about bills all day, completely devoid of any sense of romance."
"She's young and energetic. When I'm with her, I feel alive again." He spread his hands with an almost cruel frankness. "And you, Katherine? Look at yourself. You've already withered away."
I couldn't listen anymore. A surge of anger rushed from my chest straight to my head.
"How dare you say that about Mom!" I shot to my feet and got right in his face. "She's given everything for this family! The clean clothes you wear, every meal you eat, this spotless home—which one of these isn't maintained by her?"
Dad didn't even look at me properly, just waved his hand impatiently.
"You're still young, you don't understand adult matters."
His gaze passed over me and settled back on Mom, with not a trace of emotion in those eyes, only cold calculation.
"I don't want a divorce," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "It's bad for my business and reputation. If you're willing to turn a blind eye, we can continue like this. Of course, I won't give up Rachel either."
I was so shocked by his utterly shameless remarks that I couldn't speak. He actually wanted his wife to accept that he was having an affair with her own sister—he wanted to have two families at once, one for appearances and one to satisfy his private desires.
The living room fell deathly silent.
After a long while, Mom, who had been slumped on the sofa, slowly—very slowly—sat up straight. Tears still stained her face, but something was beginning to reconstitute in her once empty eyes.
She raised her head, calmly looking at the man before her who was both familiar and strange.
"I don't agree," her voice wasn't loud, but extraordinarily clear and firm. "Damian, I want a divorce."
Dad reacted as if he'd heard the greatest joke of the century, laughing mockingly. "Divorce? Katherine, on what grounds? You have no job, no income. This house is in my name, the company is my asset. Without this home, you are nothing."
His words dripped with lofty contempt and certainty, convinced he had a stranglehold on his wife's lifeline.
Mom looked at his face, distorted by satisfaction, and tears began to flow again. But this time, there wasn't the slightest trace of weakness in those tears, only anger and resolve born of being pushed to the limit.
She didn't look at him again but turned to me, her eyes red yet incredibly determined.
"Eva," she said, "pack your things. We're leaving."
---
Mom and I, dragging two suitcases, checked into a hotel not far from home.
The room was quiet. Mom sat by the window, staring blankly at the bustling traffic outside, not saying a word. I knew that her world had completely collapsed today.
After a long while, she picked up her phone and dialed a number.
The moment the call connected, her facade of strength instantly crumbled, and her voice carried an uncontrollable choke: "Dad, Mom... I'm coming home."
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, then came my grandmother's elderly and concerned voice: "Sweetheart, what happened?... No matter what, there will always be a room for you at home. You can come back anytime."
After hanging up, Mom covered her face and cried quietly for a while.
When she raised her head again, all the sadness and vulnerability on her face had disappeared, replaced by a cold and determined expression I had never seen before.
She walked up to me and held my hands. Her hands were cold but full of strength.
"Eva," she looked into my eyes and said word by word, "Mom is going to fight back now. Are you willing to help me?"
I looked at the flames of revenge burning in my mother's eyes and firmly gripped her hands.
"I will always stand by your side."
