On my birthday, I mistakenly used David Turner’s ex-wife’s rose-patterned dinnerware. Thirteen-year-old Tom Turner suddenly flipped the dishes, spilling scalding corn chowder on the back of my hand. He watched coldly as I screamed in pain. “This was my mom’s custom wedding dinnerware! I don’t allow anyone else to touch it!” he said. Tom then rushed to his room and smashed the last jeweled bracelet my mother had left me before she died. “If it weren’t for you, my mom wouldn’t have left me! When I grow up, I’ll kick you out of my house!” he shouted. I stood there quietly, feeling neither sad nor wronged, just sighing softly. “If that’s what you want, then so be it.” ***** I grabbed a nearby towel and cleaned the soup stains off myself. As I turned, I accidentally knocked the dishes to the floor. The dish broke in half upon impact. “You wicked woman! That was my mom’s favorite dinnerware!” Tom, who had been wearing a defiant expression, suddenly exploded. He stared at me intensely, his expression severe. I looked at the broken pieces and said, “Tom, you’re lying. Your mother hated roses. Why would she custom order dinnerware with that pattern?” Caught in his lie, Tom became flustered. He kicked over a chair and ran out the door clutching his worn-out backpack. This time, I didn’t follow him to the corner store to buy him cookies as I usually did. After cleaning up the mess, I quietly walked to the storage room. The urn that should have contained my mother’s ashes was completely empty. I heard the toilet flush. When I rushed into the bathroom, trembling as I scooped up the last traces of ashes, Tom gloated: “Serves you right! You broke my mom’s precious dinnerware! I made your most precious thing disappear too!” He made a face at me, then ran away. I stared at the grayish-white traces on the floor, feeling heartbroken. At Christmas, I had moved from my countryside farm to the factory housing complex with the canvas bag my mother had sewn. But the low walls of the housing complex completely cut off the free wind from the farm. They took away the college acceptance letters addressed to me and handed me a three-year-old boy who loved to bite. I spent my youth teaching him how to tie his shoelaces and solve math problems with a pencil. Yet it only took him the time to smash an urn to destroy all the love I had for him. I stood there in silence, catching the familiar scent of laundry detergent. Looking up, I saw David standing in front of my spaghetti. Like father, like son—Tom and David shared the same arrogance and the same dislike for me. David sat at the dinner table waiting for his meal after work. He examined me with a frown and said directly, “Why are you fighting with Tom again? He just started middle school. Why are you arguing with him?” Seeing that I remained silent, David grew impatient. His eyes fell on the urn I was holding, but ultimately he said nothing more. After a while, he said in a dismissive tone, “What’s past is past. The living are more important than the dead.” I felt as if I had been with them for ten Christmases yet never left even the slightest impression on their hearts. After dinner, David habitually pulled me toward the bed. I instinctively didn’t push him away. He unbuttoned my collar and slipped his hand inside my clothes. His warm breath fell on my face. David said, “It’s your birthday today, so I’ll allow you not to take birth control. If you can get pregnant, have the baby. Stop fighting with Tom.” His body grew warmer, but I felt cold. When we first married, I had loved this handsome factory manager in his Christmas prime. Three months after our wedding, I became pregnant. I remember telling David the news that day, and how his expression instantly turned cold. He coaxed me into taking abortion pills. David said, “Tom is my first and will be my only child. If you get pregnant and have your own child, you’ll surely neglect Tom.” Afterward, he became even more vigilant. Every time we had sex, he made sure to watch me take birth control. Ten Christmases had passed. The doctor said I might never be able to get pregnant again. Now David’s words seemed like a Christian offering to me. I thought, “What did I do wrong to make him treat me this way…” For the first time, I gathered the courage to push away the man lying on top of me. I said, “David, our ten-year Christmas term is up. It’s time for me to divorce you.”
The atmosphere grew tense. David said impatiently, “Tom is just a child.” “As his mother, it’s your fault for not raising him properly!” I lowered my head and smirked coldly. At Christmas, David, the factory manager, fell in love with my cousin Amanda Carter, an ordinary worker. The Carter family got several jobs at large chain supermarkets thanks to David’s connections and moved into a luxury apartment. Their marriage was happy. But Amanda’s health was poor, and she suffered from postpartum depression before passing away. The Carter family sent me to the Turner household overnight to be Tom’s stepmother. David initially refused, but his parents agreed. They thought hiring a nanny wasn’t as good as marrying a woman. Finally, the two families made a ten-Christmas agreement. Although David and I are legally married now, not a single person from either family acknowledges the legitimacy of our relationship. Tom has never called me “Mom.” This was the first time I didn’t avoid David when he was angry but looked straight into his eyes. I said, “I’m not angry, just that at Christmas, the agreement between our families will expire.” “I really should leave. Staying here only causes trouble for you and Tom.” Hearing my words, David’s expression softened somewhat. He looked at me suspiciously, but the tension eased. He compromised. “If you’re pregnant, I’ll talk to my mother. She might agree…” I said, “Don’t bother.” At Christmas, my father ran off with another woman, and my mother and I stayed at Amanda’s house. If I didn’t owe the Carter family a favor, I would have asked David for a divorce long ago. My father didn’t love me and left me nothing. David doesn’t love me, nor would he love my child. If I had a child, they would be unloved like me. I couldn’t bear to do that. I walked to the desk and wrote down Tom’s living habits and study progress over these Christmases. I said, “These days, I’ve written down everything Tom likes to eat and all his preferences in this notebook.” “He’s grown up now and can take care of himself. You can hire a housekeeper in the future. Just follow what’s in the notebook, and nothing will go wrong.” David took a deep breath and threw the notebook directly into the fireplace to burn. He pointed his index finger at my nose and said, “Lily, don’t push it.” “It’s your birthday today, so I won’t argue with you. Think it over carefully!” The door slammed shut. But a second later, the door opened a crack. Tom was still wearing the badge his teacher had awarded him. He threw his book hard at my temple and said viciously, “Bad woman! If you keep hanging around our house, I’ll hit you!” The book fell to the floor—it was one I had given him. Tom forgot that his academic achievements he’s now so proud of were all because of my help. Amanda and I were close. Before she died, she asked me to take care of Tom, saying he was a good kid and would surely be grateful to me someday. At that time, I looked at the adorable three-year-old Tom. He seemed to understand and smiled happily. In that moment, I fantasized about spending the rest of my life with David. But after ten Christmases, it’s time for me to wake up from my dream.
The next day, I packed my bags. To take care of Tom, all my clothes these past ten Christmases have been gray and black, colors that don’t easily show dirt—much like my gloomy life. But it doesn’t matter. I’m about to welcome my own freedom. I was heading to the station to buy tickets when I ran into my widowed neighbor. She showed her face at the door, and Tom laughed as he threw himself into her arms. “Good morning, Ella,” he said loudly. His voice was so loud that other neighbors looked our way. “Lily used some tricks to marry David shortly after his cousin died.” “Now Tom isn’t even close to her. What good has it done her?” Hearing these words, Tom seemed even happier and spoke even louder. “Ella, Dad loved the cake you made yesterday. Lily’s cooking is terrible.” When I first moved here, I wasn’t good at handling relationships and was ostracized by neighbors, so I stayed home experimenting with cooking. Back then, three-year-old Tom was very attached to me. He would eat every bit of the cakes and cookies I made. In his eyes then, I was like an angel sent from heaven. But now, though my cooking skills haven’t declined, Tom looks down on me. Ella smiled at Tom in her arms, then looked at me challengingly. “Children are the most innocent and adorable. They never lie,” she said. “David marrying you was the luckiest thing that could happen in your life.” Ella had a mole at the corner of her eye, just like Amanda’s. Because of this similarity, she—a widow—was assigned an apartment by the factory. Tom often ran to her place to play. When David came to pick him up, the three of them standing together looked like a family. “You’ve even bought tickets. Are you trying to threaten me?” I had come to Amanda’s home with my train ticket. Amanda’s mother, Kelly Edwards, clutched my train ticket with displeasure. “I’m just fulfilling our previous agreement,” I said. “I’ve been their nanny for ten Christmases, and now I want to live my own life.” She slapped me hard across the face and said, “You country girl, how ambitious you are! You and your mother lived in our house, and now that she’s dead, you want to leave?” She tried to slap me again, but I caught her hand and looked at her calmly. “My mother and I lived in your house for five Christmases, and I’ve worked at David’s for ten. We’re even now!” I said. “I’m not here to ask for your opinion. I’m just here to inform you.” These past ten Christmases, I’ve acted with a clear conscience. As a wife, I’ve taken meticulous care of David. While he went out to work, I handled all the household matters. Every day, I also had to endure his insatiable sexual desires. As a mother, I’ve raised Tom to become a known genius in the middle school. I gave him all my love. And he achieved excellent grades. I played every role well, except I failed myself. After saying goodbye to Kelly, I turned to see David’s cold, feminine energy-depleted gaze. David said, “Are you really leaving? You’re a Christmas-aged divorcee, no one will want you anymore. “I advise you to think carefully. If you don’t get along with Tom, just let him go to Ella’s place after school. You won’t have to worry about anything.” I smiled and said, “Thank you. That won’t be necessary.” David grew increasingly angry. According to his imagined scenario, I should have happily accepted his proposal and stayed out of gratitude. But I’d rather endure the pain than continue living this numb existence. Ella mocked me, “Lily, it’s too much how you despise me. “Mr. Turner has provided for you all these Christmases, and has never mistreated you. “Do you hate me that much?” As she spoke, Ella actually turned away with tears and nestled into David’s arms. David shouted at me angrily, “Lily, apologize to Ella right now!” Tom picked up a stone from the roadside and threw it at me, saying, “I don’t want you as my mom anymore! I want Ella to be my mom! “You bitch! You killed my mother, and now you want to hurt Ella!” The stone hit my temple, causing pain. I looked at Tom seriously and asked, “In your heart, am I the murderer who killed your mother?” “Aren’t you?” he furiously headbutted my stomach, knocking me to the ground. That’s when I suddenly realized he had grown to be as tall as me. Tom developed slower than other children his age, and I tried everything to provide him with proper nutrition. Through winter cold and summer heat, I considered everything thoroughly for him, from his studies to his friendships. These ten Christmases, the time spent with him has occupied a third of my life. Yet all my efforts couldn’t withstand Ella’s few provocative words. I just felt disappointed. David and Tom looked at me as if I were a beggar on the street coming to collect a debt. Perhaps I once did beg them for love, but now all misunderstandings could only end with this divorce agreement. I took the agreement out of my pocket, handed it to David, smiled at the three of them, turned around and went inside to get my luggage. David didn’t even glance at me, busy fussing over Ella. But I felt like he was waiting for me to say something. I knew that with David’s charm, there would always be new women in his life who would consider being his wife the highest honor. But none of that concerned me anymore. I hailed a taxi, wanting to leave this home as quickly as possible. However, after the car started, Tom suddenly appeared on the road, spreading his arms to block the car.
The engine’s roar suddenly stopped, and the sharp sound of brakes cut through the morning silence. The world seemed to freeze around me, with only the screeching of brakes echoing in my ears. The driver muttered a curse, but I didn’t hear it. In my world, there was only the small figure standing in front of the car, wearing a blue coat. That blue coat I had sewn for him with my own hands. He was blocking my way. My heart ached, making it almost impossible to breathe. I pushed open the car door, and the cold wind carrying fine rain made me shiver involuntarily. The icy raindrops hit my face and pounded heavily against my heart. “Tom, what are you doing?” My voice trembled, carrying a hint of fatigue that others could barely detect. This exhaustion came not only from physical tiredness but more from the torment of my soul. Tom looked up, staring at me defiantly. His eyes were full of hurt and accusation against me. “What gives you the right to leave?” His childish voice was sharp and piercing, stabbing into my heart like a small knife. “Because you and your father never loved me,” I forced a smile. Saying those words made my heart ache. “You’re lying!” Tom cried out, weakly pounding his fists against my legs. My heart was touched. Tom said, “You don’t love me or Dad!” I looked at him, feeling heartbroken. Once, I had genuinely loved them both. I thought that by taking Amanda’s place, I could earn their love. I believed that if I gave my heart, I would receive what I deserved in return. But I was terribly wrong. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a nanny, a disposable substitute. I bent down and forcefully pried Tom’s hands from my legs. His little hands were cold and weak. I picked Tom up and placed him in David’s arms inside the car. In that moment, my heart died completely. “Watch your son,” I said coldly. Then I turned and sat in the driver’s seat. The driver started the car, and we sped away. The scenery outside the window rapidly receded. My heart grew calmer. The cold rain beat against the windows, blurring my vision and my memories. I seemed to return to that sunny afternoon three Christmases ago. Amanda lay in her hospital bed, pale-faced but gripping my hand tightly. “Lily, please take care of Tom,” her voice was weak but pleading. Looking at the helpless infant in her arms, I nodded solemnly. At that moment, I truly intended to take good care of Tom and give him a complete home. I thought David and I would care for Tom together and provide him with a warm family. But I overestimated my place in their hearts and underestimated the complexity of human emotions. David never loved me; he had always loved Amanda. He resented me for taking his wife’s place. And Tom, influenced by those around him, began to resent me too, blaming me for stealing his mother’s love. I’m tired, truly tired. I don’t want to continue this life without love or hope. I took out the crumpled ticket and clutched it tightly in my hand. It was my only hope of escaping this city. New York, here I come.
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