Chapter 3

Richard rushed over first. He shoved me aside, then crouched down to help Margaux.

My lower back slammed into the cabinet behind me, sending a sharp pain shooting through my spine. Thirty-five years of housework had left me with severe lower back strain. After such a hard impact, the pain was so intense that my vision went black. I no longer had the strength to stand.

“Margaux! Are you okay?” Richard asked anxiously.

He carefully examined her leg. When he saw the beads of blood on the scrape across her knee, his face went pale.

Our son rushed over, too, glaring at me angrily.

“Have you lost your mind?” he shouted. “Why would you push Margaux?”

Our daughter knelt beside Margaux on the other side, looking close to tears.

“Margaux, are you okay?” she asked anxiously. “Does it hurt?”

Justin stepped in front of Margaux protectively.

“Grandma Margaux, don’t be scared!” he declared. “I’ll protect you!”

Margaux leaned against Richard, her whole body trembling as she sobbed.

“Richard, my leg... My leg hurts so much...” she cried. “What if I can never dance again?”

“That won’t happen!” Richard reassured her, holding her close. His voice was full of worry. “I’ll take you to the hospital. You’re gonna be okay.”

Then he looked up at me, his eyes filled with hatred, as if I were his sworn enemy.

“If you have a problem, take it up with me. Why did you push Margaux? She was kind enough to give up her wedding for you, and this is how you treat her?”

I was in so much pain that I couldn’t say a word.

“You want a divorce? Fine. Meet me at the courthouse tomorrow morning,” Richard said coldly. “And you can forget about the wedding. You’ll never have one. Not as long as you live.”

He turned to Margaux, gently helped her into his arms.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he murmured. “Anna and I are getting divorced, you don’t have to give up your wedding for her anymore.”

I watched them disappear through my blurred vision.

The family members who stayed behind stared at me with disappointment.

“You’ve gone too far, Mom,” my daughter said. “You know how important her legs are, yet you still went and hurt her.”

“You don’t need to pick Justin up or drop him off for the next few days,” my son added coldly. “I don’t want him growing up cruel and vicious by following your example.”

The door shut as their figures retreated.

I finally push myself up from the cold floor. Every movement made my lower back feel as if someone were snapping me in half.

Gritting my teeth, I used the cabinet to pull myself to my feet. Margaux’s perfume lingered thick in the air. Its cloying sweetness made me want to throw up.

Holding on to the wall, I slowly made my way back to the bedroom. I took out a pain-relief patch and applied it to my lower back. Only then did the pain ease a little.

Once I had enough strength to walk, I called a cab to the hospital.

I checked in alone, waited in line alone, got my X-rays alone, and waited by myself for the results. Meanwhile, every member of my family was by another woman’s side.

The results came quickly. My chronic lower back strain worsened, and I suffered a severe sprain. The doctor glanced behind me, seemingly expecting someone to be there.

“Didn’t any of your family come with you?” she asked.

I instinctively tightened my grip on the diagnosis report and shook my head.

“No.”

The doctor opened her mouth, then gave me a pitying look.

“There’s nothing particularly bad about your condition,” she explained gently. “You just need plenty of rest and little activity.”

I nodded and thanked her before leaving the emergency department.

The sharp smell of disinfectant mingled with the scent of medication, hitting me so strongly that my eyes began to water. When I felt tears on my face, I froze for a moment, then quickly raised a hand to wipe them away.

But somehow couldn’t stop.

Then my phone buzzed several times. Desperate to distract myself, I unlocked the screen. Margaux sent me a long grocery list, only to unsend it a second later.

Another message followed almost immediately.

Margaux: [Sorry, Anna. My finger slipped.]

Margaux: [I meant to send that to Richard. He said he wanted to cook dinner himself tonight, so he asked me to make him a grocery list.]

Margaux: [He told me to get plenty of rest because of my injured leg. He's going to stay at my place and take care of me for a while. I hope you don't mind.]

I stared at her messages for a long time.

Over the past few years, my chronic lower back pain had grown worse. Even walking to the nearest bus stop had become difficult.

Sometimes, when the pain was unbearable, I'd ask Richard to pick up a few things from the market on his way home from work.

But he always refused, complaining that he was exhausted after work and had no energy to push through a crowded market. He also insisted that I barely had any housework to do and questioned how bad my back could really be if I could hardly walk.

In his eyes, I was simply being dramatic.

In all our thirty-five years of marriage, he'd never cooked me a single meal. Not when I had fever that reached 104 degrees. Not when my back hurt so badly that I couldn't even straighten up. He would simply sit there and wait for me to bring his food to him.

Whenever I complained, Richard would answer impatiently, “What do you expect a grown man like me to know about cooking?”

So it wasn't that he couldn't cook. He simply didn't want to cook for me.

I took a deep breath and replied that whatever Richard did was none of my concern anymore, since we had nothing to do with each other. I also reminded Margaux to tell him that we were meeting at the courthouse the next morning.

After sending the message, I blocked her.