During the seven days I was hospitalized, Luther never reached out.
To him, I was nothing more than an afterthought, less significant than a stranger.
Through Stella’s social media, I saw photos of them indulging in passionate bliss at the apartment.
In one of the pictures, Luther held Stella in his arms, his embrace filled with affection. She smiled like a blooming flower, their necks marked with unmistakable traces of intimacy.
Before, I would have rushed over, tears streaming down my face, demanding an explanation.
But this time, I simply clicked the like button and then paused.
On the day of my discharge, my best friend Nina brought my mother’s urn to the hospital.
Her voice choked with emotion. "By the time I got there… there were only bones left."
"You and your mother were so devoted to him, but he… he’s nothing but a beast!"
For Luther Valdez, I brought along my mother away from our home and moved to this city.
My mother treated him like her own son, staying up all night whenever he fell ill.
My mother always said, "Luther grew up without parents since he was a child. If we treat him well, maybe we can make up for the love he never had."
However, even after she died saving him by being struck by a car in his place, he still did not see my mother as family.
The moment Stella said, "It’s my birthday, I want to have my party here," he trampled on my mother’s last shred of dignity without hesitation.
He coldly pushed me aside and I naïvely thought he was just leaving me to handle other matters.
When I finally rushed back to the ancestral home, what awaited me was a scene so horrific it was beyond words.
I took my mother’s urn in my hands, my gaze hollow as I looked at Nina. "Thank you, Nina."
After that, like a soulless puppet, I resigned from the company.
The home that was once filled with warmth now felt unbearably cold.
Every corner carried traces of my mother and her presence lingered in the air. But those once-comforting memories had turned into blades, cutting deep with every touch.
I stared blankly at my mother’s urn, my vision blurring as silent tears welled up.
"Mom, I’m sorry… I’ll take you home."
"What home are you talking about?" Luther, who had been absent all this time, suddenly appeared at the door.
I did not even want to acknowledge him. Without a word, I picked up my phone and began booking a flight.
Luther curled his lips awkwardly as if trying to ease the tension, then spoke as if talking to himself.
"Stella received your gift. She said she forgives you for what happened that day."
I froze for a moment before realizing that he thought the package I sent was an apology gift for Stella.
They had been so busy indulging themselves these past few days that they had not even opened it yet.
A cold laugh escaped my lips as I said, "That wasn’t for her. It was for you."
Luther’s expression darkened and he spoke in an annoyed tone, "Because of your mother, Stella didn’t get to celebrate her birthday properly. Shouldn’t you be the one to make it up to her?"
The anger that had been simmering inside me suddenly ignited.
"Luther, what right do you have to demand an apology from me?" My voice was sharp with fury. "Don’t forget that my mother died saving you!"
For a brief moment, Luther was at a loss for words, but it did not take long for him to regain his usual self-righteous demeanor.
"Stella’s birthday was ruined because of your commotion. You should take responsibility, right?"
"Besides, I never asked your mother to save me, so don’t try to guilt-trip me with morality."
I trembled with rage. Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest cup and hurled it at him.
Luther dodged to the side and the cup shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor.
"You are such a shrew!" He looked at me with pure disgust. "I can’t stay in this house anymore."
With that, he walked to the fridge, pulled out a box of dumplings and left without looking back.
