Chapter 8
“I have already broken up with you.”
Back then, all I wanted was for my mother to survive. I even considered forgiving Mark for pushing me out of the car for Chloe’s sake. But when my mom passed, Mark was in the hospital. If he had just listened to me, if he had gone to see her for even a moment, she might not have missed the critical time for treatment and could still be alive.
But instead, his mind was entirely focused on Chloe’s sprained ankle. He completely forgot about my mother, who was fighting for her life in that hospital bed, waiting for help. He forgot about me, running desperately through the streets, trying to see my mother for one last time.
Every time I think back to that day, the pain crushes me. But Mark ignored my pain and waited for me to return, cook and clean for him as if nothing happened.
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“I didn’t agree to this!”
He grew frantic, his voice tinged with
annoyance.
“It’s a common thing in life to live and die. Death is a part of life. What does it have to do with our relationship? People die when they reach a certain age and people get married when they reach the right time.”
He continued, “And your mom, wherever she is, would want you to have a good life.”
I sneered and my voice bitter. “Then why didn’t you let your parents go and join my mom? They are a few years older than my mom.”
“Rachel, who gave you the courage to say something like that about my parents?”
His face contorted in anger as he clenched his fists and stepped toward me. But I was faster. I grabbed a vase from the table and hurled it at him. It missed his ear by inches, crashing to the ground, splashing him with water from the vase.
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The cold water made Mark pause. He wiped his face, his expression calming slightly.
“Forget it. Your mom just died. I understand you’re emotionally unstable right now with your condition. I won’t argue with you. But Rachel, even though your mom is gone, you should still treat my parents as your own. They’ve always liked you and will treat you like their daughter.”
“Shut up!” I shouted.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Mark’s audacity was too much. I grabbed a broom and began hitting him, tears streaming down my face despite my best efforts to stay composed.
I looked at him through my tears, my voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Don’t you remember how your parents treated me?”
Mark looked away, unable to answer. But I knew he remembered.
It was during the best time of our
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relationship when his career was just beginning. Even though he was busy, we always found time for walks and shopping. But his parents, from the beginning, had never liked me. They criticized me for not doing housework and for spending too much money. They even came to my office. to cause trouble, telling me not to work overtime and to focus more on the family.
“Mark’s career is just starting. He needs a good wife to support him,” they said.
“He’s a loyal and compassionate person; when he makes it big, he’ll never forget you. A woman should prioritize the family. You can’t even manage basic housework. How will you have a good life if you don’t take care of these things?”
Under their constant pressure, I quit my job. Back then, I was so naive, believing that life would get better as long as we worked together. But when I learned to do the housework and keep the house in order, they started criticizing me for being
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Chapter B
too old and possibly unable to have children.
It was never enough. It was never good enough.
