My nerves have been shot for weeks. A trip to the hospital confirmed it: Alzheimer’s. The doctor tried to be comforting. “Look at you,” he said, gesturing at my clothes. “Dressed in designer labels from head to toe. You must have a very happy life.” “The progression can be slowed,” he continued. “Tell your husband and children not to worry too much. Why don’t you call them in? I’ll go over the necessary precautions with them.” I opened my phone and stared at the contacts under the ‘Family’ tab. My son, who had cut ties with me the moment he moved abroad. My rebellious daughter, who hated me for breaking up her and her delinquent boyfriend. Or my husband, who was probably with his mistress right now. For a moment, I had no idea who to call. I closed the phone. “It’s fine,” I said softly. “Let’s not tell them.” This way, I can finally forget them all. 1 After I left the hospital, a rare snow began to fall over the city. I grew up in the North, in a place of deep winters. But in the thirty years since I’d married and moved south, I’d never seen a blizzard like this so early in the season. They say a good snow promises a good year. A good omen, perhaps. I squinted, the familiar route home suddenly blurry in my mind. I ended up taking a taxi. The payment app had updated, and I fumbled with it for so long the driver started yelling. After a few more struggles, I was finally home. The house was as it always was: vast, cold, and utterly silent. Not a trace of life. I numbly cleared the dining table and reheated last night’s leftovers. I’d let the house staff go a few days ago. There was no need for so many people to look after just me. Halfway through cooking, I zoned out, forgetting to turn off the stove. The pan started smoking, and I rushed to put out the small flame before it could catch. The resulting meal was a blackened, unappetizing mess. I forced down a few bites and went to bed. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that Arthur came home. I heard the door open in a haze of sleep and pulled on a robe, heading downstairs. He was sitting on the living room sofa, smoking. He’d dyed his hair recently, covering the distinguished threads of silver at his temples. His face was still handsome, well-maintained with few wrinkles, and his body was lean. At a glance, he looked almost the same as he had in his youth. No wonder he has a constant stream of young women flocking to him, I thought wryly. He noticed me and stubbed out his cigarette. “Still awake?” I nodded, trying for a light tone. “Getting old. My nerves are shot these days.” For years now, Arthur had treated me with a polite, almost formal respect. A flash of guilt crossed his face. “I’m sorry. If I know I’ll be late next time, I won’t come home.” I could smell a woman’s perfume on him, a scent that was faintly familiar. I vaguely recalled it was the one his little mistress wore. Silence stretched between us. He hesitated, then decided not to hide it. “Ross came back today. We threw a welcome dinner for him. He… he probably still doesn’t want to see you after what happened, so I took Lily.” I nodded again. “Oh.” I congratulated myself internally. It was his mistress’s perfume. My memory wasn’t so bad after all. Not as bad as the doctor made it sound. “Have you eaten?” he asked, a pang of guilt in his voice. “If not, I can make you something.” I cut through his pretense. “Arthur, I need to talk to you.” I put on my reading glasses, fumbling in my handbag for a moment before I found what I was looking for. I handed him the file. He flipped through it, his expression souring as he read. I sighed. “Arthur, my mother passed away at the beginning of the year, didn't she? I was thinking… our marriage doesn’t have to count anymore either. We’ve both lived such constrained lives, forced to marry without love. We’re old now. Let’s give each other the freedom we’ve always dreamed of, shall we?” Arthur said nothing. He simply lit another cigarette. Through the haze of smoke, I couldn’t read his face. I gave a strained laugh. “As for the children… neither of them wants me as a mother. Ross came home and I didn't even know. You and your mistress went to his welcome dinner instead of me. I suppose I’ve been a failure in that department, too. But we’ve raised them. Their futures don’t need me anymore. There’s nothing left for me to hold on to here.” “So, sign the divorce papers. We can file them after the one-month cooling-off period.” His voice was hoarse. “We’ve come this far. Can’t we just see the performance through to the end?” I took a cigarette from his pack. “I’m tired, Arthur,” I said softly. “You and Lily have been together for years. She’s lasted longer than any of the others. When I was young, I had a temper. I couldn’t stand it. We fought constantly about your affairs, I tried to divorce you so many times, but my mother always stopped me.” “She said my family was bankrupt, that your family’s money saved us, so I had to be good to you unconditionally. No one ever cared how I felt. Over the years, the debt my family owed yours has been more or less repaid. And now my mother is gone. There’s no need to continue the show. The audience has left.” I took a long drag from the cigarette and smiled faintly. “Let’s get a divorce, Arthur. You want to give Lily a proper title, don’t you? I heard our daughter call her ‘Mom’ the other day.” After I said it all, a heavy fog settled over my mind, and everything went blank. I only remember him smoking, one cigarette after another. Finally, he rasped, “Fine.” He picked up a pen and signed his name, then grabbed his coat to leave. I stopped him. “When you have a moment in the next few days, meet me at City Hall. We need to file the application.” Seeing my resolve, a flicker of anger crossed his face. “Helena, don’t you regret this. Once we’re divorced, you can kiss the comfortable life of Mrs. Thorne goodbye.” I laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t regret it.” My entire life had already been a regret. A lifetime of emotional blackmail, of living in a haze. What could possibly be worse than that? 2 Arthur didn’t come home after that night. Ross, despite being back in the country, never came to see me. And Jenny… well, she had already accepted Lily as her mother. She was probably having the time of her life at Lily’s place right now. I remembered the fight we had before she ran away from home. It was because she’d started dating some reckless biker, skipping her university classes to go joyriding with him. I had grounded her and frozen her credit cards. She had screamed at me, tears streaming down her face. “You’re not my mother, you don’t understand me at all! Aunt Lily supports me and my true love! You’re not even a tenth of the woman she is!” I felt a wave of helplessness. I wanted to say, I’m your mother. Only your mother will ever try to guide you. Outsiders don’t care; they’ll just tell you what you want to hear to make you happy. But the words wouldn’t come out. “I hate you! You don’t deserve to be my mother! No wonder Dad doesn’t love you. You deserve to be alone!” She slammed the door and left. That night, Lily took her in and sent me a text. [Jenny’s with me, Helena. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her for you.] Back then, I still hated Lily. I didn’t want my daughter anywhere near my husband’s mistress. I sent Jenny message after message, begging her to come home. But months went by, and she never replied. … Now, I’ve made my peace with it. I don’t hate Lily anymore. To hell with Arthur, too. My children must have inherited his cold-blooded genes; they were never going to be close to me. What a failure I’ve been. Couldn’t keep my husband, lost my children, and now, in my old age, I have dementia. I’ll probably end my days bedridden. Muttering about the hardships of life, I began to pack my bags, planning to move back to my childhood home. When I was done, I put on my glasses and carefully typed a message to Jenny: [Mom is leaving. Let your father and Aunt Lily take good care of you. It’s getting cold, remember to wear a jacket.] I wanted to wait for her reply before I left. But I waited a long time, and no message came. I sighed. A daughter’s heart flies from home. I lingered on Ross’s chat window for a moment but ultimately didn’t send a message. He hated me. In his heart, he probably wished I would just die and leave him alone. My eyes stung, but no tears came. I supposed I’d cried them all out long ago. As I left the house, I felt no attachment. Only a profound sense of release. I called Arthur and told him to meet me at City Hall. I checked into a hotel near the airport and had the bellboy take my luggage up. By the time I got to City Hall, Arthur was already there, waiting with a woman by his side. My heart sank. He had to bring Lily with him, even on the day of our divorce. Just one last humiliation. Lily had endured years of being the other woman, and now, in her forties, she was about to become the new Mrs. Thorne. Her face was alight with triumph. In her eyes, I was the loser. Dressed in a chic black coat, she clung to Arthur’s arm. She put on a show of magnanimity. “Do you have any plans, Helena? It’s hard to find a job at your age, and you don’t have much savings. Why don’t you keep living in the house? I’ll have Arthur move in with me. Besides, Jenny and Ross are staying with me now, and they miss their father.” Her words were a clear provocation. Arthur said nothing. “No need to trouble yourself,” I said coolly. “I’ve already moved out. You and the children can have the house. The house, the people… they're all things I no longer want.” Lily’s smile faltered. “Well, if you need anything in the future, just let us know. You and Arthur were married for so long, after all. We’ll help if we can.” “No, thank you. Helping me with this divorce is the greatest help you could possibly offer.” At my words, Arthur’s hands clenched into fists. We went inside. Lily waited in the car. After a long silence, he spoke. “Wouldn’t it be better to just keep things as they are?” I didn’t even look at him. “That’s what you think.” He rubbed his temples in frustration. “You’re just as impulsive as you were when you were young. Always throwing tantrums. I gave you two chances to reconsider. You didn’t take them.” “Save that good fortune for Lily. I don’t need it.” The head of the Thorne family was rarely spoken to like this. His face darkened, and he didn’t say another word. After the paperwork was done, he walked out, got in the car with Lily, and drove away without a backward glance. I clutched the divorce certificate in my hand, a wave of relief washing over me. It didn’t matter how hard the future would be. In this moment, for the first time in thirty years, I was free. 3 I spent the night at the hotel and took an early flight the next morning. Before my mother died, she left me our ancestral home in the North. After arriving, I went straight there. Staring at the dusty, long-abandoned house, I felt a pang of melancholy. I remembered the last day I spent in this house. My mother had knelt before me, her head touching the floor, sobbing. She said if I married Arthur Thorne, his family would save ours from ruin. Only I could save them. “If you don’t marry him, you are no longer a Vance! You are no longer my daughter!” On my wedding day, she offered no blessings. Instead, she sat counting the money the Thornes had transferred to her bank account, a wide grin on her face. … I closed my eyes, trying to recall some happy memories from this house, but they were all shrouded in a thick fog. The doctor said my condition would soon become moderate. I would forget many things, my movements and speech would become impaired. I might even lose the ability to talk. But I wasn't afraid. To forget all those people and all those things before I die meant I wouldn't have to remember them in the next life. While my mind was still relatively clear, I spent a few days cleaning the old house until it felt new again. My neighbors were a kind mother and son. When they learned I’d moved in, they often invited me over. We got along well and quickly became friends. The days passed quickly. In a blink, I had been living in the North for half a year. In the first two months, I planted a garden, spending my days watering and fertilizing. In the months that followed, I would forget to water the plants entirely. I’d wake up and just stare into space for hours, sometimes forgetting to eat. My neighbor noticed my garden had withered and that I had grown thin. She was worried. She invited me to her house for dinner. When the food was served, I couldn’t remember how to use chopsticks. Panicked, I reached for the food with my hands. “Helena!” she cried, gently stopping me. She stared at me, a look of realization dawning. “Are you… are you ill?” It was only then that I realized what I was doing. The shame was overwhelming. I wanted to run, to disappear. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be sick anymore. In the later stages of this disease, I might lose my dignity entirely. I had spent my life valuing etiquette and propriety. I couldn’t accept becoming a person without a sense of shame. “I’m sorry,” I managed to say, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. I realized I hadn't spoken in a long time. “It’s okay, Helena. I understand what’s happening. We’ll take care of you.” “That’s right, Aunt Helena,” her son, a young boy named Leo, added. “I’ll come visit you often. Please don’t cry.” He took a napkin and gently wiped my cheek. I realized then that I was weeping.
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