After bankruptcy, to care for my disabled husband and a son with aphasia. I turned down an offer from a top research institute abroad, and for three years, I cleaned fish at the market. On New Year’s Eve, a customer dumped a whole basin of fish guts on my head. “Daddy, this is your ninety-ninth test for Mom. She always smells so gross, and even if she passes all your hundred tests, I still don’t want her. I only want Serena to be my mom.” Leo’s childish voice echoed from inside the house. Marcus immediately transferred fifty thousand to his childhood sweetheart. “Serena, it’s New Year’s Day. Leo wants your cooking again.” In the kitchen, my face was expressionless as I brutally smacked the struggling fish on the cutting board. It was as if that fish was Marcus, pleading for my help all those years ago. “You guys just sell dead fish! This pufferfish isn’t even cleaned properly. Are you trying to poison our whole family on New Year’s?” Animal guts mixed with bloody water rained down on me from above. I shivered uncontrollably, nearly retching. Yet, all I could do was force a smile, seeing off the fifth troublesome customer this month. “Stella Hayes, aren’t you coming home for New Year’s? Leo’s hungry and waiting for you to cook.” Marcus rarely messaged me, busy as I was outside for 365 days a year. Thrilled, I threw on a thin sweater and rushed home through the snow. When the customer blocked me at the door, my body was cold, but my heart was colder. My own son’s tender voice still echoed in my ears. Serena Miller was the girl Marcus knew from the orphanage. She was also the psychologist I’d paid a fortune to hire to treat Leo’s aphasia. When did she start playing the role of ‘Mom’ in my son’s mind? I swallowed the ache in my chest and pushed open the door to our shabby home. Marcus, with his bad leg, was drawing with Leo. His expression flickered when he saw how disheveled I was. The next second, Leo shrank into his arms, burying his face, afraid to look at me. “Stella Hayes, how did you get yourself into this state outside?” “Leo’s already scared of you and won’t talk to you. You should learn how to be a good mother.” “At least be like Serena.” Marcus, who had seemed hesitant, frowned and questioned me, then took Leo to the small room. He didn’t spare me another glance, nor did he fuss over me like he used to, asking if I was warm or comfortable. He completely ignored my purple, frozen skin and my filthy clothes. They say love changes, especially for couples facing hardship. But I always believed Marcus’s vows. Whether I was a wealthy heiress or a stay-at-home mom, he would love me just as he did when we were young. After bankruptcy, I’d often anxiously cling to Marcus, asking if he still loved me. Marcus went from firm promises to evasive silence. “You don’t need to cook. Serena’s coming over to celebrate with us, and she wants to try her hand at cooking.” “Deep clean the place. Serena can’t stand the smell of fish.” Marcus closed the door, leaving only a few light words that felt like cold thorns piercing my heart. His latest model phone, left on the sofa, suddenly lit up. Marcus never allowed me to check his phone. An inexplicable urge made me pick it up. What greeted my eyes was a picture of me, red-eyed and covered in blood, standing at our doorstep. [Mr. Thorne, what do you think of how I handled things? Please keep me in mind for next time.] [Wives who aren’t obedient need to be taught a lesson.] Scrolling up, the chat history revealed all the photos of my humiliation over the past three years. It even included that time at the lakefront, when Marcus took Leo straight to Serena, leaving me to walk back to the hotel alone, almost getting assaulted by a homeless man. Those photos were there too. The soul-crushing messages were interspersed with large bank transfers. As our household funds dwindled, sometimes we couldn’t even afford my mother’s medical bills. Where did Marcus get all this money? I stared at my wretched reflection on the phone screen, my fingertips white from clenching. I remembered Marcus’s furious outburst at the police station afterward, fighting until he bled for me. My heavy heart felt sliced in two, brutally exposing my pain. This was Marcus’s “hundred tests.” My breathing hitched. Through tear-filled eyes, I saw the latest message, from Serena. [Marcus, I loved the tricks you pulled in Stella’s bed last time. Today, I have a special surprise for you.] Marcus, the man I’d loved for five years, was cheating on me.
When Serena arrived, Marcus and Leo were already waiting at the door. In the past, by the time I finished work and came home, it was always past midnight. To avoid disturbing Leo, Marcus had suggested we sleep in separate rooms. For three years, I could only secretly watch them sleep in the dead of night to ease my endless exhaustion. I had never witnessed such a heartwarming scene. Serena wore designer clothes, her jewelry making her appear even more gentle and radiant. She looked like someone who had blossomed in the nourishment of money and love. She was a completely different person from the timid Serena I first met, who used to do odd jobs for a cleaning company. Marcus smoothly took Serena’s coat, and Leo, his eyes full of joy, hugged Serena, calling her intimately. “Serena, Leo missed you so much.” Hearing my son’s voice again, I only paused for a moment. I had once studied psychology with my mother, but stopped after her illness worsened and our company went bankrupt. Marcus, whom I had sponsored, just saw me as a spoiled rich girl without a job. He had found Serena to be a psychologist without consulting me. Leo’s aphasia, it turned out, was only directed at me. The last time I heard my son speak was when he was a toddler, chasing me and calling me “Mommy.” That snowy night, I couldn’t reach Marcus, had no money for a taxi, and could only carry my feverish son to the hospital on my back. Having been pampered by my parents since childhood, I walked two kilometers, eventually collapsing from exhaustion and passing out on the roadside. Leo, picked up by the ambulance, looked at me but didn’t say a word. It wasn’t until dawn that snowplow workers found me, stiff and nearly frozen to death. And Marcus, rushing to the hospital, carrying a familiar perfume scent, questioned why I hadn’t gotten Leo to the hospital sooner. Claiming it was my fault that Leo’s high fever had led to his aphasia. Turns out, some words weren’t *can’t* be said, but *won’t* be said. I wasn’t Leo’s problem; *they* were mine. In the kitchen, I watched the harmonious scene in the living room, savagely hitting the fish on the cutting board. “Auntie, are you already preparing dinner? Please add an extra place setting for me.” Serena raised her right hand, wrapped in gauze, looking apologetically at Marcus. “Sorry, Marcus. I accidentally injured my hand helping an elderly person on the way here. I might not be able to cook for Leo.” Marcus’s momentary discomfort at Serena calling me “Auntie” vanished, his eyes filled with nostalgia. “Serena, you’re still as kind as you were as a child. Leo misses you dearly, just spend time talking to him.” “Stella Hayes is supposed to cook.” “Oh, it’s Stella. My apologies, I thought you were a new maid.” “Sister, you’re rarely home. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Serena smiled, intending to link arms with me, but when she saw the fresh blood on my apron, she couldn’t hide her disgust and recoiled. She wasn’t so high and mighty when she stood timidly beside Marcus, begging me for a job. I looked at my reflection in the window—wearing worn, frayed clothes, my hands rough and calloused, my cheeks sallow and sunken. I really did look like a housekeeper. A mocking smile tugged at my lips. Looking at Serena, standing between father and son, I no longer hesitated. I took out my phone and replied to that email, attaching the five years of research I’d developed with my mother. The rotten bonds of family, I didn’t want them anymore. The top research institute was incredibly efficient, quickly sending a reply. [Ms. Hayes, we haven’t given up on you for three years.] [We can arrange the best doctors for your mother.] [Your flight abroad is booked for three days from now. Thank you for joining us!]
On New Year’s Eve, Leo insisted on sleeping with Serena. I was forced to give up my room, making do with the sofa for the night. When I got up for water in the middle of the night, I saw Marcus’s bedroom door ajar. Serena was sitting on Marcus’s lap, moving rhythmically, her expression seductive. Marcus was making low, controlled sounds, a display of passion I had never seen from him. He used to blush even at holding hands, famously pure. Even our first time, I had to guide him. Now, he brazenly brought another woman home, seeking thrills while she wore *my* pajamas. I suddenly remembered the unfamiliar underwear I’d found when tidying the room last time. I clenched my trembling hand, barely stopping the water glass from falling. I didn’t want to hysterically rip apart my dignity in front of him. The next morning, I didn’t prepare breakfast for the family. Instead, I tore all of Leo’s drawings from the wall. And threw them into the trash can. Each of those drawings used to be my treasure; the family of three depicted in them was my favorite image. But only today did I realize that the smiling mother with long flowing hair in those pictures, perhaps, was never me. “Stella Hayes, what’s with the tantrum? Serena just stayed one night, and you’re giving her attitude.” “Is that what the etiquette you learned in your wealthy family taught you, how to treat guests?” “When you’re done throwing a fit, come back. Leo’s been crying all morning. If you comfort him, he might even forgive you.” Marcus’s words hadn’t even finished before I hung up on him. I smiled, looking at the market manager, and handed over the rights to my fish stall. On the other end, I contacted a lawyer to draft divorce papers. When the phone rang again, I was unusually annoyed. Picking it up, I heard the hesitant voice of a researcher. “Dr. Hayes, your research results from last night were very innovative, but they’ve just been published.” “And the authors aren’t you and your mother…” This research was initially proposed by my mother. We painstakingly collected data; our home computer still held countless records of our experiments. I panicked, anxious, before I even had a chance to open my phone. On a large screen by the roadside, Serena’s radiant face, now flourishing, was projected. She stood under the flashing lights, accepting all the praise as if it were her due. “I owe the completion of this research to my beloved, the CEO of Thorne Group.” “Thank you for being by my side since I was eighteen. You are the best gift in my life.” Eighteen — that was the year I officially sponsored Marcus, pulling him and Serena out of their poor village. My phone conveniently displayed the search results for Thorne Group. The youngest CEO, successfully acquired Hayes Corp, a new business elite… Behind every achievement displayed was Marcus’s indifferent, aloof face. So, ‘Mr. Thorne’ meant *this*. Bitterness spread through my veins, hot tears falling on my hand. While I was fighting over a few cents, Marcus had already become Mr. Thorne, rich and famous. How cheap was the love between us, really?
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