1 For five years of marriage, I’d grown accustomed to visiting my mother’s and child’s graves alone each year. Once again, Mark Wallace produced two plane tickets before the spring remembrance festival. One for him. The other, not for me. "Chelsea needs to go back for the ancestral rites. Same old routine," he said, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. "I'll book your ticket for October. Hotel's already taken care of." I couldn't help but ask if this year could be an exception. In the frozen silence, the answer was already etched on his face. Christmas was spent with Chelsea and her family. Memorial Day was their son's birthday. And my own child’s grave? He hadn’t visited it once in five years. Out of 365 days, October was the only time I'd briefly see him. Staring at the ticket that had nothing to do with me, the weariness of five years suddenly pressed down, stealing my breath. "If you walk out that door today, we're filing for divorce," I heard myself say, my voice eerily calm. ... "When you go back this time, remember to buy the toy Arthur wanted last time…" Mark's instructions stopped abruptly when I uttered the word "divorce." He furrowed his brow, his voice stiff. "Divorce? What divorce?" "You're talking about divorce over something so trivial?" Mark frowned, perplexed, as if I were being utterly unreasonable. "I’ve spent enough money on your sister, haven't I? Her life is entirely dependent on me now." "We agreed initially that I'd be staying in Portside for a long time. You consented to that. So what are you trying to do, bringing this up now?" My hands, hanging limply, trembled slightly. I felt a little lost for words. He used to say Arthur was too young, that I should be understanding. He promised that once Arthur was older and more sensible, he'd leave Chelsea. For my sister's illness, I endured again and again. We got our marriage certificate five years ago, but there was never a wedding. No one even knew we'd been married for five years. We saw each other once a year, separated by two thousand miles. Even during video calls, Chelsea and Arthur were always by his side. I was always the outsider. "Mark, you and Chelsea are already divorced. Arthur is five years old now." "So what are we? A transaction?" All the resentment and hurt of these years spilled out. But Mark was clearly getting impatient. He waved his hand dismissively. "Isn't it?" My breath hitched. Mark seemed to realize his mistake a beat too late. A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. The atmosphere grew silent. He abruptly changed the subject. "Fine. I'll double her medical fees this month." "Go find a new place to live. How can anyone live in such a cramped space?" He looked at the peeling paint on the walls, the moldy ceiling, with undisguised distaste. He casually pulled a card from his wallet and thrust it into my hand. The cold touch spread from my palm to my heart, a bitter taste rising in my mouth. This house was my sister’s and mine. Our home. After my sister's accident, I'd stayed here, guarding it. The money he gave me, my own salary, my bonuses—every single penny went into a bank account. Once it was full, I wouldn’t owe him anything. The old iron gate creaked open. A child of four or five ran straight into Mark's arms. "Daddy! I missed you so much!" The house was small. Chelsea and her son came in, struggling to find a place to stand. "Jamie, you live here?" Chelsea said, feigning surprise. "It's all Mark's fault. I told him from the beginning, once you two were married, he should come home." "But he refused. He can't leave Arthur and me." Her face was full of false apology, but her words dripped with sarcasm. "Why don't you move to Portside with us? The house isn't huge, but we can clear out a spare room for you." Mark didn't seem to have any objection to this absurd suggestion. "Chelsea's right, it's unfair that we only see each other once a year." "Your sister's condition is just... well, why don't you just…" Seeing them as a family of three, a sense of powerlessness washed over me. "No, I don't need to…" Before I could finish, a loud crash made me snap my head up. Arthur's hands were empty. At his feet lay a shattered crystal ball. My pupils trembled. I lunged forward, pushing Arthur out of the way. The child landed on his bottom and burst into tears. "Who told you to touch that?!" Mark rushed forward, scooped up Arthur, and carefully checked him for injuries. He immediately started accusing me without bothering to understand what happened. "It's just a broken trinket! Why would you push the child?!" Chelsea's eyes were also filled with concern for Arthur. "Jamie, Arthur is just a child. How could you do that to him?" I couldn't bring myself to listen to their accusations. I just crouched down, trying to piece the broken crystal ball back together. It was a gift from my sister on my birthday. That day, she’d been on her way to buy a cake for me, to surprise me, when the car accident happened. She’d been in a coma ever since. Clinging to life in a hospital bed. This was her only, her last, gift to me. I looked up, my eyes bloodshot, glaring at the family. "How are you going to pay for this?" 2 Mark's face darkened. He pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them onto the floor. "Is that enough? Apologize. If you don't, you won't see me this year, or next." "And your sister's medical bills? Forget about them." I slammed the door shut. The living room was so quiet I could only hear my own heartbeat. The floor was a mess. As I bent down to pick up the shards, I tried to put the crystal ball back together. But what's broken is broken. Just like Mark and me. Five years ago, it was the second year after my sister's accident. Mark Wallace had forced his way into my life. He took on all of my sister's medical expenses. He was there for me during my darkest time. I accepted his proposal. But after we signed the marriage certificate, he confessed. "Jamie, I've been divorced before." The marriage certificate was still warm in my hand. I looked up, stunned. "What?" "I have a son with her. He just turned one month old. He needs me." "So we agreed to divorce but still live together. She's in Portside. I have to leave tomorrow." Mark's calm words made my heart sink. He handed me a card. "Your sister's medical expenses for this month. I'll deposit money into this card from now on." He asked me to understand him, to be considerate. For my sister, and because I clung to the hope of this relationship, I chose to forgive. But it was this forgiveness that allowed Mark to abandon me again and again. When I first found out I was pregnant, my mother was gravely ill, and no one was there to take care of me. I called him, told him the news. At first, he promised he would come home to be with me. But soon after, he called back. "Jamie, Arthur started crying non-stop when he heard I was coming home. I'll send you some money. You can hire a nurse to look after you." After that, I went to all my prenatal appointments alone. My belly grew larger day by day, and the neighbors looked at me strangely. "Jamie, your belly is so big now, but I never see your husband." I forced a smile and brushed them off. "He's busy with work." But rumors spread like wildfire that I was some man's kept woman, an illegitimate mistress. During my pregnancy, emotions overwhelmed me. Every time I called Mark, the call would be rejected before it even connected. It wasn't until my due date that Mark finally returned from Portside. On the way to the hospital, he drove frantically, talking all the while. "When you go in to give birth, try to push hard and get it over with quickly. Arthur's birthday is in two days, and I have to rush back." My water had already broken. I was too weak to speak. When I was rushed into the operating room, I developed amniotic fluid embolism due to fetal malposition. Bag after bag of blood was sent into the operating room. Countless critical condition notices were issued. In the end, I survived, but the baby didn't. When I opened my eyes, the nurse looked at me with pity. "Ms. Jensen, your husband already left. He paid your medical bills." "You'll have other children." I covered my face, tears streaming down. But I wasn't given a chance to recover. My mother, who had been ill for years, passed away three days after I lost my child. When he heard the news, he only sent me a text message. Arthur's sick. You'll have other kids. I'm just glad you're okay. Your mom's passing is a release for her. Don't be too sad. I'll be back to handle the funeral arrangements. By the time he returned, it was already after the seventh day of mourning for both my mother and my child. I had a huge fight with him. But he said to me, "Arthur's illness this time is very serious. Can you understand what's more important, the living or the dead?" "I know you've suffered, but didn't I give you money?" "I made sure you had the best hospital room, the best nutritionist to recover, and I never missed a payment for your sister's care. What more do you want from me?" He rubbed his temples, telling me over and over to be reasonable. "Mark, how many times have you said those things? Why are you still living with them?" "Is it because of the child again? Then why did you divorce her? Why did you marry me?!" I screamed, ignoring all decorum. But Mark never once thought he was in the wrong. He remained impassive, bringing up my sister without hesitation. "Jamie, you need to be grateful. Without me, how could your comatose sister be in such a good hospital?" "Before you make a scene next time, know your place." After I suggested divorce, he cut off my sister's medical resources. I had lost my child, lost my mother. I couldn't lose my sister too. In the years that followed, I repeatedly gave in. When Mark was in a good mood, he would try to console me. "We're married. Do you really think I'd run off?" I wiped away my tears, tidied up the house, and my gaze fell back on the plane ticket on the table. I reached out, tore it to shreds, and threw it in the trash. My phone suddenly rang. It was the hospital. My heart quickened. My sister's condition had been stable for the past two years. For the hospital to call now... I didn't dare to think, and quickly answered the phone. "Ms. Jensen, your sister just had a sudden cardiac arrest. She's in critical condition right now. Please come to the hospital." 3 My head buzzed. I grabbed my coat and ran out. When I arrived at the hospital, I was handed a critical condition notice by the doctor. That thin piece of paper almost slipped from my grasp. After signing it with trembling hands, the nurse told me to go pay the fees first. I handed over the card Mark had given me. But I was told there was no money in it. "Insufficient funds." I froze for a moment. This card was given to me by Mark before he left. It contained double the medical fees. How could there be insufficient funds? "Is the machine broken? Try swiping it again." The person at the payment counter was impatient. "No money means no money. It won't change no matter how many times you swipe." People behind me were urging me on. My sister's life hung over me like a sword. I walked to the corner of the hallway and called Mark. The call took a long time to connect. I heard Mark's nonchalant voice. "Had a change of heart? Do you know how to apologize?" "Arthur still hasn't recovered, you—" I cut off his reprimand. "Why is there no money on the card?" He paused, as if recalling something. After a long silence, he spoke calmly. "I forgot. I gave that card to Chelsea before." "She had a bad investment and needed money to cover the losses." I tightened my grip on the phone, my knuckles white, my voice tinged with pleading. "My sister is in emergency surgery right now. She had a sudden cardiac arrest…" "What's that got to do with me?" His voice on the other end of the line grew even more impatient. "Jamie, weren't you acting so tough earlier?" "Figure out the money yourself. This is your punishment." I felt my breathing constrict. I looked up at the red light above the operating room. My heart pounded. "Mark, when we got married, you promised me." "I know, but I want you to remember who's been bailing you out all these years." Before I could say anything else, a child's voice piped up. "Daddy, I'm hungry. I want to eat the food you made for me." Then came the sounds of Chelsea and Mark laughing. "Mommy's food isn't as good? Your daddy was too tired yesterday, let him rest…" The call ended. The busy signal extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart. Payment notifications kept coming in. I clenched my jaw, swallowed my pride, and asked my company for a three-month advance on my salary. I also borrowed money from everyone I knew. Finally, I scraped together enough for the surgery. The operating room light just switched off. I clenched my fists, staring intently at the doctor who emerged. I saw my pale-faced sister being wheeled out of the operating room.
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