Chapter 2

I swallowed the ache in my chest and closed my mother's suitcase.

"Mom, we're leaving. Now."

She froze, then stole a cautious glance at April.

"Can't we go tomorrow morning? You're still not well…"

"I'm going with you. We're not staying here to be treated like this."

At that, April frowned and stood up.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To find a hotel. If there's no room for the two of us here, then we'll leave together."

I took my mother's arm and steered her toward the door.

April stepped quickly in front of me and slammed her hand down on the suitcase.

"Owen, don't go."

Her voice was too urgent.

Urgent enough that, traitorously, my heart gave a small jolt.

Ten years of marriage.

And I couldn't help it—I let myself hope she couldn't bear to lose me.

After a moment of silence, her tone softened.

"You just got out of the hospital. You're still recovering. Don't throw a tantrum."

My throat went tight. I was about to ask whether she still cared about me.

But she glanced at Elmer and kept talking.

"Elmer has a bad stomach. He can't handle your aunt's cooking."

"He's staying here for a while, so you need to stay and cook for him."

I stood there, as if someone had slapped me across the face.

I lifted my head, unable to believe it.

"You stopped me just so I'd wait on him?"

"Wait on him? What kind of word is that?"

April knitted her brows.

"You cook anyway. It's just one more pair of chopsticks at the table."

"Elmer just landed a partnership for the company, and his health isn't good. What's wrong with looking after him for a few days?"

Something twisted hard in my stomach.

My teeth were shaking.

"That partnership—I drank until my stomach bled to close it."

"What did he do?"

April opened her mouth to argue and found she had nothing to say.

She could only fall back on, "Elmer was the one who signed it in the end."

"Without him to close it out, all the drinking you did up front would've been worthless."

A contract I'd signed with my own body.

And in April's heart, it counted for less than one offhand sentence from Elmer.

I clenched my fists and said nothing more.

Then Elmer spoke up from the side.

"April, don't fight with Owen over me."

"Owen just got out of the hospital. He should be resting."

"It's no big deal. I can eat out, or just have instant noodles every day."

Then he looked at my mother, feigning consideration.

"Auntie doesn't need to move to a hotel either."

"Country folk might carry lice, but that's fine as long as we bring someone in to disinfect a few extra times a day."

"I'm not that particular."

My mother's face went red in an instant.

She fidgeted, twisting the hem of her shirt, wanting to say she wasn't dirty.

But looking down at her rain-soaked shoes and socks, all she could do was lower her head, helpless.

The look April gave me turned even more disappointed.

"Look at Elmer. He's the one being insulted, and he's still speaking up for you."

"Then look at you. One little thing and you want to run off with your mother."

"Owen, when did you become so unreasonable?"

She was the one who'd dumped my mother on the roadside and driven off.

Yet somehow I was the unreasonable one.

In this house that had never been mine, everything my mother and I did was wrong.

"Fine. Then let your reasonable Elmer stay and look after you. My mother and I will move out."

I took my mother's hand and moved to go around her.

April's face went completely dark.

She grabbed my wrist and yanked me back, hard.

"Owen, stop being difficult, would you!"

Pain wrenched through my stomach.

My footing gave out, and I almost fell.

My mother was terrified. She rushed over to shield me.

"Talk it out nicely, please. Owen's still sick."

She stood between us, pleading in her voice.

Trying to placate her, she held out the insoles to April.

"Owen told me specially to bring these to you."

"He's always thinking of you. He's just too shy to say it…"

My mother was trying to bow her way out of the fight.

But April was still at the peak of her anger.

She didn't even look at the insoles. Irritated, she shoved my mother back.

My mother staggered two steps and slammed the back of her head against the coffee table.

A dull crack.

The living room went silent all at once.

She lay on the floor, not moving.

Blood seeped slowly out of her graying hair.

The insoles, embroidered with a wish for safety, had fallen beside her.

Bit by bit, they turned red with blood.