He shot me a vicious glare, then rushed to Peggy's side and pulled her into his arms.
His hands moved restlessly over her reddened knee, stroking it again and again.
I looked at Maxwell. The only thing in his eyes when he looked back at me was disgust.
Ever since Peggy was diagnosed with leukemia,
Maxwell had taken every ounce of tenderness he once gave me and transferred it to her, piece by piece.
Two years now. Two years, and somehow the leukemia patient's complexion only grew rosier by the day.
Yet Maxwell, a man who'd clawed his way through nearly a decade of cutthroat business, couldn't see anything wrong with that.
He sacrificed his time for her.
He sacrificed our relationship for her.
I thought if I waited long enough, he'd wake up.
But now he'd sacrificed my mother for her.
I was done waiting……
‘Felicia, apologize to Peggy.’
Maxwell's tone left no room for argument.
‘Peggy just finished a round of chemo today, and the first thing she wanted was to come pay respects to your mother. You can't even appreciate that? And you burned her certificate?!’
‘With that kind of pettiness, how do you expect to be Mrs. Delgado?!’
‘Then I won't be.’
I picked up the trophy that had shattered on the ground moments ago.
Its jagged edge sliced into my finger.
Bright red blood seeped across the name engraved on the trophy, ‘Peggy Pruitt,’
I locked my eyes on Maxwell's bewildered face and spoke, slow and deliberate.
‘Maxwell Delgado, I will never be wife to the man who killed my mother.’
‘I want you and her to pay for what you did. Both of you.’
I left the funeral parlor.
I went straight to the Capital City Art & Calligraphy Competition Committee, my original drafts and the full recording of my creative process in hand.
The officials stared at nearly fifty gigabytes of raw drafts, frozen where they stood.
Anyone who has ever truly painted would understand what those files meant.
Three years. Over a thousand days. I'd slept two, maybe three hours a night.
All for that one moment.
‘Felicia, why didn't you present these on the day of the ceremony……?’
Another official nearby pointed at the black mourning band pinned to my shoulder and nudged the one who'd spoken.
The speaker's expression darkened.
Then he clasped my hand tightly.
‘Felicia, don't worry. The committee will make sure you get justice……!’
A shrill ringtone cut him off.
He glanced at the caller ID, released my hand at once, and turned to take the call in the corner.
It lasted only a few minutes.
When he came back, his face was completely different.
I forced down the dread coiling in my chest and stepped forward, testing.
‘Sir, my evidence is solid. Surely this can be resolved quickly?’
The man across from me gripped the USB drive so hard his knuckles went white.
When he looked at me again, every trace of warmth was gone.
‘We'll be in touch. What you submitted doesn't really prove much.’
My heart plummeted.
I lurched forward and grabbed his hand.
‘Sir, this award means everything to me. I've spent half my life painting for this.’
‘My mother already died because of this. I need justice……’
‘I heard you. Didn't I say to go home and wait?!’
He wrenched his hand free.
‘We have work to do. Stop wasting our time.’
The same officials who'd been shaking with righteous anger minutes ago walked away without sparing me another glance.
A security guard was already stationed at the door, ready to drag me out.
I left the committee office in a daze.
The moment I stepped outside, I saw Maxwell's car.
