My husband of thirty years, Bryce Burton, announced at his retirement party that he would be taking in his deceased brother’s wife, Camille Fields, to stay with us temporarily. The guests praised him for his kindness. I rubbed my aching back, watching like an outsider as my children attentively cared for Camille. My son Martin Burton suggested, “The master bedroom has better lighting, and Camille’s health is poor—she needs natural sunlight. Mom, why don’t you move to the small cabin on the north side?” My grandson Lucas Burton happily said, “I like my new grandma. She draws with crayons, unlike old grandma whose pictures aren’t pretty at all.” Bryce threw away all my paintings. “These paints could trigger Camille’s asthma. You’ve been painting for forty years without gaining any recognition. Just live a peaceful life and stop talking about dreams.” That night, Bryce stayed in Camille’s room. Later during the holidays, the whole family took Camille on a world tour, leaving me alone at home. Bryce frowned at me and said, “You should stay home. We’ll share photos with you.” I sat motionless all day, carefully reflecting on my entire life. I had given up my opportunity to study abroad so my husband could complete his doctorate. I raised our children, cared for his parents, and in the end, I was cast aside by them all. I found the invitation to the International Senior Artists Exhibition. I no longer want this family. For my remaining years, I should pursue my dreams. ***** “I’m willing to accept the special invitation to the Paris art exhibition. As long as you don’t reject me because of my age, I’m ready to continue my path in art.” Professor Claude Weber’s excited voice came through the phone. “Ms. Norah Gilbert, the art world has been waiting for you for forty years! Your graduation piece ‘Spring Dawn’ is still on display in the academy gallery.” After finalizing the appointment time, I hung up. Suddenly, a message popped up in the family chat group from Martin—a group photo. At the Eiffel Tower, Camille wore a pink dress, intimately holding my husband’s arm. Bryce was dressed in a dark blue suit, his gray hair impeccably combed. Even approaching sixty, he maintained himself well; time had only made him more dignified and refined. Our children stood on either side of them, smiling brightly. The caption read: “Three generations together, seeing the world with our most beloved family members—a moment of happiness belonging to our little family.” I stared at the photo for a long time, tears welling in my eyes. Martin’s wife, Alaina Burton, sent a voice message: “Norah, look how beautiful the Paris night view is! Too bad you couldn’t make it.” Martin quickly replied: “Mom, don’t overthink it. You don’t even like traveling. Even if you came to Paris, you wouldn’t enjoy yourself and would just spoil the mood.” My feelings were complicated, so I didn’t respond. If I hadn’t married Bryce and had gone to study abroad instead, perhaps I would have visited Notre Dame in Paris long ago. Bryce and I met in college. Back then, he wore a worn-out shirt and performed Romeo and Juliet at the freshman party, instantly captivating me. Before we got together, I knew his first love had married his brother. But Bryce repeatedly promised to treat me well, and I believed him. In those days, love meant choosing to be with someone for a lifetime. But before we married, I received an opportunity to study abroad, only to unexpectedly become pregnant. Bryce’s parents said, “Bryce has great academic potential. Once he completes his doctorate, he’ll surely take good care of you and the child.” So I burned my acceptance letter from École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts, choosing instead to marry and have children. I had planned to pursue my career and fulfill my dream of traveling the world after Martin grew up a bit. But the children’s education, marriages, grandchildren’s births, and so on consumed all my time and energy. From twenty-five to fifty-five, not a single day did I live for myself. The phone rang—it was Martin. “Mom, we’ll be home tomorrow at five. Prepare dinner early. Camille says she wants clam chowder, and remember to add extra green onions.” I wanted to say I’m allergic to green onions. For decades, I’ve never added green onions to clam chowder. Before I could respond, Camille’s laughter came through. “Norah, I’m so sorry we left you alone at home. Let me bring you back some gifts.” Bryce’s stern, deep voice followed. “She doesn’t need gifts. Just showing her the photos is enough.” Lucas chimed in, “Grandpa’s right! Grandma’s old now and should just rest at home. Grandma Camille is so beautiful—she should be in more photos.” Heartbroken, I didn’t want to hear any more and hung up. In the mirror hanging in front of me, I saw myself at fifty-five—wrinkled face, heavy bags under my eyes revealing exhaustion, and messy gray hair. Compared to the radiant Camille in the photos, I looked disheveled. I pressed my cracked lips together, making up my mind. Now that Martin has a successful career and a happy family, and my daughter is married too, this family no longer needs me. It’s time for me to leave.
I rubbed my aching back, just about to pack my bags, when suddenly the phone rang again. The caller was my daughter, Kaylee Burton. I sighed and answered. Kaylee impatiently said, “Mom, why did it take you so long to answer?” I gripped the phone tightly and asked softly, “What’s wrong?” Kaylee said, “I’m due to give birth in a few days, but Jim is on a business trip to Boston. I’ll have to go back to work after I deliver, and nannies are so expensive these days. Can you come help me take care of the baby?” I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, the pain in my back forcing me to shift my position. Kaylee’s voice rose a notch. “Jim’s mother has high blood pressure and can’t be overworked. Besides, Dad has Camille to take care of him now, and they’re traveling together. You have plenty of time on your hands.” My throat felt like someone was squeezing it, leaving me speechless. This was my beloved daughter. She worried about her husband’s mother but not about me, her own mother. In her eyes, I was just a free babysitter with nothing but time. From the other end came a nurse’s voice urging her to come for a check-up. Kaylee quickly said, “Mom, hurry up and pack your things to come over.” Then, she hastily hung up. I sat hunched on the sofa. The warm sunlight fell on me, but I felt only cold. After sitting for a long while, I got up to pack my bags. After thirty-five Christmases in this house, all my belongings barely filled one small suitcase. I smiled bitterly, as sadness gradually enveloped me. The next morning, before dawn, I went to the market to buy the freshest ingredients. When I returned home, I dug out my old notebook where I had recorded everyone’s food preferences. [Bryce loves lamb chops but with little oil, Martin likes braised beef short ribs, Alaina doesn’t eat basil, Lucas loves Buffalo hot wings…] I placed the notebook in a visible spot in the kitchen cabinet. After I left, I hoped they would find it useful. I still didn’t put scallions in the clam chowder. I had compromised for them my entire life; this time, I didn’t want to compromise anymore. By five in the afternoon, I had prepared eight dishes. Bryce returned from vacation with the family. Seeing no scallions in the clam chowder, he immediately frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to add more scallions because Camille loves them? You can’t do anything right. Throw it out and make it again!” Martin also accused me, “Mom, you’re getting more confused with age. Camille had a tiring journey, and now she can’t even enjoy a proper meal.” Hearing their accusations, I felt nothing but exhaustion. Camille put on a bitter smile and said, “It’s okay. Norah’s been busy all day. If she doesn’t want to make it, that’s fine. After all, I’m just an outsider.” Seeing her upset, everyone immediately rushed to comfort her. “What are you standing there for? Go make it again!” Bryce looked at me with displeasure. I didn’t remake it; I just took the clam chowder back to the kitchen. Before entering, I looked at Bryce. “I’m allergic to scallions. Whoever wants them can make it themselves.” Ignoring their changing expressions, I closed the kitchen door. After dinner, I washed the dishes alone in the kitchen. Bryce walked in, showing no signs of remorse. “If you don’t tell us you’re allergic to scallions, how would we know? Stop looking so dejected, as if someone owes you something.” My dish-scrubbing motion paused. After a few seconds, I asked, “Do you need something?” In all our decades of marriage, Bryce had always avoided the kitchen. He believed such a dirty place would taint him. Bryce slightly furrowed his brow and informed me, “Camille doesn’t have children. Martin and I have discussed it and decided to transfer his guardianship to her.”
I stared at Bryce, my voice trembling. “Martin is my son. What right do you have to give him to Camille?” Bryce’s expression darkened. “My brother worked himself to death to put me through school. Now Camille has no one to rely on. What’s wrong with giving her a child?” He suddenly pressured me. “If you hadn’t gotten pregnant and held me back, I would have studied abroad years ago. Can’t you give my brother’s family even this small compensation? Norah, you’re so selfish!” His words cut me deeply. I had given up everything for him, managed the household, cared for his parents and our children, yet in his eyes, I was nothing but a burden. Hearing the argument, Camille walked in and gently patted Bryce’s shoulder. “Bryce, calm down. Your heart isn’t good. You shouldn’t get upset.” When she looked at me, she was cautious, adopting the posture of a victim. “Norah, if you don’t agree, it’s fine. I’m used to being alone anyway.” Bryce slammed his hand on the table and snapped, “This matter is settled. Norah, you must agree. I’m the head of this household!” Martin entered with his wife and child. He frowned at me and said, “I’ve made my decision too. Stop interfering.” Then he turned to comfort Camille. “Please don’t take it to heart. Feel free to stay here.” Alaina took my arm. “Don’t worry, Martin and I will take care of you.” My heart ached. They were a family, and I was the outsider. I held back my tears, struggling internally for a long time. “Bryce, let’s…” I finally made up my mind and said, “get a divorce.” The room fell silent instantly. Martin showed no concern for me, only accusation: “Mom, you want to divorce Dad over something as trivial as transferring guardianship? Can you stop making a scene?” Bryce snorted, mocking me: “You think you can copy those young people and use divorce to pressure me? Norah, without me, could you still live this comfortable life? If you want to stay in this house, behave yourself!” After saying this, he took the whole family out to a newly opened restaurant, claiming he wanted to make up for Camille’s disappointment at missing the clam chowder earlier. I remained in the empty house, feeling a sadness I had never known before. I silently threw away the barely touched food and finished the housework before dragging my exhausted body to take a shower. Camille hadn’t wiped the floor after her shower, leaving water everywhere. I slipped and fell hard on the tiles. Sharp pain shot through me, making me wince. After a long while, I managed to crawl out of the bathroom and called Martin. I called him seven or eight times, but he hung up every time. My heart sank. I struggled to get up and applied medicine to my bruises. An hour later, I saw Martin had updated his Instagram. In the photo, the family sat around Camille, who had a cake and gifts in front of her spaghetti. The caption read: [Even on ordinary days, we should give Mom a little surprise.] My heart ached dully. I turned off my phone, applied more medicine, and went to bed. In the early hours of the morning, I was awakened by pain and faintly heard Bryce’s voice in the living room: “Let Camille have this house. Send your mother to the old house in the countryside so we can have some peace and quiet around here.” I froze in place. Alaina’s hesitant voice came through. “But Norah is quite old now. Is it appropriate for her to live alone in the countryside? Maybe we should go stay with her for a few days?” Lucas immediately objected with disgust, “No way! Grandma’s going to raise chickens and ducks when she goes back to the countryside. It’s filthy! I’m not going!” Martin coldly replied, “Mom’s always throwing tantrums at home, making everything a mess. She’s better off living in the countryside. That way, everyone can have some peace.” Bryce calmly said, “That’s settled then.” I lay in bed, my gaze empty and numb. They didn’t even want to keep me in this home. The next morning at seven, I packed my luggage, taking only my documents, a few clothes, and that invitation letter. Finally, I left a signed divorce agreement in the study before heading out. Suddenly, messages came through in the family chat group. They were all congratulating Kaylee on giving birth, sharing photos of Camille and Bryce by her side. My fingers trembled as I zoomed in on the photo. Kaylee had given birth at four in the morning, and not a single person had thought to notify me about such an important event. Gasping for breath, I hurriedly dragged my suitcase downstairs. Ignoring the pain in my legs, I hailed a taxi and rushed to the hospital. At the very least, I wanted to see my daughter and grandchild one more time before leaving. At the hospital, I found Kaylee’s room. Before I could open the door, I glimpsed through the crack and saw Camille sitting by the bed. Kaylee was holding her hand. “Thank you for being here with me. You care about me more than my own mother does.” The color drained from my face. Behind me, a nurse pushing a medication cart approached and asked curiously, “Which patient are you here for? Aren’t you going in?” I took a deep breath, shook my head, and pulled a gift from my pocket. “Please give this to the new mother in Room 302.” The nurse took the gift and was about to say something, but I had already turned away resolutely. The air conditioning in the airport was on full blast, making me shiver. I clutched my boarding pass, sitting in a corner as my phone kept vibrating. In the family chat group, Lucas sent a voice message: [Grandma, come quick to see Aunt Kaylee’s baby sister! Her skin is all wrinkly, just like yours.] Bryce scolded: [Norah, you don’t even come to see your daughter after she’s given birth. You’re truly an unfit mother!] Martin chimed in: [Mom, Camille has done so much for Kaylee. How can you let her exhaust herself like this?] Kaylee also expressed her disappointment: [You didn’t even come to see me after I gave birth. I really wish I didn’t have a mother like you!] After hesitating for a few seconds, I gently tapped “Leave Group Chat” and blocked all their contacts. As the boarding announcement sounded, I tossed my phone into a trash bin. As the plane took off, I took one last look at the city where I had lived for fifty-five years. A dream delayed by more than forty years—I was finally going to make it come true.
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