Chapter 3

3: 3

3.

At home, Sebastian wouldn't even right a spilled soy sauce bottle. Here he was pulling out a chair for the woman, ordering for her, mixing her dipping sauce.

She said something coy, and he reached over and gave the tip of her nose a little tap, the picture of a middle-aged couple who loved each other.

With me, out in public, we couldn't even eat a meal without keeping three feet apart.

He always dressed it up as being mindful of appearances in public.

So it wasn't about appearances at all.

It was that the person he went out with wasn't the one he loved.

My heart was already dead. Calmly, I took out my phone and started taking photos for evidence.

Sebastian and the woman finished their breakfast too.

The two of them drove off in an expensive SUV.

I hesitated a moment, then hailed a cab and followed.

They went to my son's boarding school.

After picking up my son, they went to the mall.

They bought a lot of things I'd never even dared to look at before.

Among them was a bag that cost thirty-eight hundred.

I'd wanted it for a long time, but the price had always stopped me.

Sebastian bought it too, and handed it to Marina.

Marina slung the bag over her shoulder, delight practically spilling out of her eyes, and still she made a show of hesitating.

"Honey, does this bag look good on me? Isn't it too expensive…"

Sebastian's eyes were full of love for her.

"As long as you like it, it's worth any price."

"Exactly!" my son chimed in.

"Mom, you deserve the best!"

"Tomorrow I'll call the police and say that old witch abused me, then hand the forged psychiatric report over to the cops."

"Once she's locked up in the psychiatric hospital, her car, her house, her savings are all mine. Then, Mom, you can buy as much as you want!"

Coaxed by father and son, Marina was over the moon, and she planted a kiss on each of their cheeks.

The three of them walked off hand in hand to some upscale restaurant they'd reserved.

I took one last photo, saved the recording of their conversation, and only then hailed a cab home.

The family portrait of me, Sebastian, and my son was still hanging by the front door.

All I felt now was how much of a joke it was.

I called the police and reported that several cameras of unknown origin had been found in my house.

After I got the report receipt, I dug my son's toothbrush out of the bathroom.

I sent it in with a sample of my own for a paternity test.

When I saw the words on the report—"blood relation: zero, parent-child relationship excluded"—

the last scrap of feeling left in me disappeared completely.

With all the evidence saved, I went to the hospital.

My in-laws were chatting with the others in the ward.

The moment they saw me come in, all of them went quiet.

I pretended not to notice and stepped out to get water.

The talk started up again behind me.

"So that's the daughter-in-law of yours, the one with the mental illness who beats people?"

"She looks pretty normal, honestly. Such a shame…"

My in-laws joined right in.

"Isn't that the truth?"

"She wasn't like this before, really. It was my son's sudden death in that car accident that shocked her into it…"

This time, I didn't hold back. I turned around, pushed the ward door open, and said,

"Dad, Mom, isn't Sebastian alive and well?"

"Cursing him like this—aren't you afraid something might actually happen to him?"