Chapter 2

Richard’s lips curled into a mocking smile.

Our son spoke first, impatient in his tone.

“Dad already said he’d make it up to you with a wedding. What more do you want? He and Margaux have been planning their wedding for over six months. They can’t just call it off!”

“Besides, you’ve already waited thirty-five years. What’s a few more months? This wedding is very important for Margaux’s treatment. Can’t you be a little more understanding?”

Looking at my son’s face, so much like Richard’s, I was reminded of the countless times over the past thirty-five years when Richard had reacted the same way whenever I brought up the wedding he’d promised me.

Impatience. Contempt. Disgust.

Richard walked up to me.

“I know you feel like you’re being treated unfairly,” he said calmly. “How about this? Once Margaux and I finish our wedding, I’ll arrange everything a proper wedding should have for you, too.”

He spoke as if he were doing me a favor.

“Now, stop sulking and go get groceries,” he continued dismissively. “Make beef with cilantro for dinner. It’s Margaux’s favorite.”

I stared at him for a moment, hardly able to believe what I’d just heard.

Richard knew exactly what Margaux liked and didn't. But when it came to me, he couldn’t care less. For example, I absolutely hated cilantro. It was the only food I was allergic to.

***

Back when Richard was still courting me, he took me out to dinner one night. I had an allergic reaction to cilantro and ended up in the hospital. He stayed by my bedside all night, holding my hand as he made a promise.

“I’m sorry, Anna,” he said earnestly. “I’ll remember that you can’t eat cilantro. I swear I’ll never let you eat or near it again for as long as we live.”

After we got married, Margaux began coming over more and more often, claiming she wanted to thank me for giving up my solo performance for her. Margaux loved beef with cilantro, so before long, the dish became a regular fixture on our dinner table.

Every time I made it, my hands would itch terribly, but Richard never once asked me my condition.

The worst time, my hands swelled up like balloons after I finished cooking. In the middle of the night, my fever soared to 104 degrees, rashes broke out all over my body, and I could barely breathe.

I shook Richard awake. He glanced at me, then rolled over. “Just put on some ointment. I have a meeting tomorrow.”

That night, I went to the emergency room alone. I spent the entire night receiving IV treatment before my symptoms eased.

The next morning, when I returned home, Richard barely glanced at me. “Since you’re feeling better, remember to take Justin to school,” he said indifferently. “And Margaux is coming over tonight, don't forget to pick up some cilantro when you go grocery shopping.”

He was so indifferent, I lost my words.

I kept telling myself that for the sake of our home, our children, and the thirty-five years of love we’d shared, I could endure a little more.

Looking back now, I could hardly believe how foolish I’d been.

***

I threw a glance at everyone in the room. Each one of them had the same confidence on their faces.

For thirty-five years, no matter how much I’d suffered or how thoroughly they’d ignored me, I had always gotten up the next morning and gone about my usual routine: getting groceries, cooking, doing laundry, and mopping the floors.

That was why they were so sure I would do the same this time.

But for the first time in my life, I wanted to fight back. And I was determined.

“Richard,” I called. “I don’t want a wedding anymore.”

I looked him straight in the eye and continued, “If you want to marry her, then give her the title she deserves. I’ll step aside.”

Then, and only then, Richard’s face darkened.

“Don’t you think you’ve taken this too far?” he snapped.

Before I could respond, our son jumped in.

“Stop it, Mom! You’re being stubborn,” he said impatiently. “Do you really think you can walk away from this family? What about Justin? Can you really bear to leave your own grandson?”

At the mention of his name, Justin looked up at me. But instead of coming to me, he turned and threw himself into Margaux’s arms.

“That’s great!” he exclaimed. “Now Margaux can be my real grandma.”

His words pierced my heart.

Margaux had her eyes on me.

“Anna, please don’t do this,” she said gently. “You’ve been married to Richard for so many years. There’s no need to let a little misunderstanding come between you.”

“If you’re not okay with Richard treating me, I’ll stop seeing him. Starting today,” she continued, “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right between you two.”

As she spoke, she stepped closer and reached for my hand.

“Look, why don’t you take my wedding dress? You can also use the venue, and here, take the ring,” she offered softly. “You can have it all. I just want you and Richard to make up.”

The way she spoke to me, as if she were handing out charity, only made me feel more disgusted. I instinctively pulled my hand away.

Just then, Margaux stumbled and lurched forward. Her knee struck the corner of the coffee table with a sickening thud. She let out a piercing scream and collapsed to the floor, clutching her leg as tears instantly welled in her eyes.

“Why did you push me?”

She cried, looking up at me in disbelief.