Victoria, who had been watching the scene unfold, suddenly screamed. Her eyes reddened, her voice trembling with tears.
“Michael, look at her! My son and I have never eaten such good food, and she’s wasting it like this!”
Michael rushed over to shield her, shouting at me,
“Emily Carter! Have you lost your mind as a rich wife?! Victoria and Ethan Reynolds have suffered enough at her ex-husband’s house. I just wanted to treat them to a nice meal! How dare you flip the table?”
“Don’t blame her, Michael,” Victoria sobbed softly. “It’s not that I deserve good food.”
The more she spoke, the more distressed Michael became.
His face turned dark as he called over the manager and pointed at us.
“Take them both to the kitchen. Make them hand-wash every dish used today! They’re not leaving until it’s done! If you let them go, I won’t pay for this private event!”
The private event costs at least 70,000 dollars. Hearing that, the manager nervously surrounded me and Lily with his staff.
I looked up, eyes full of hatred.
“Michael, are you insane?! Lily has low blood sugar! At least let her eat something!”
Lily lay limp on the ground, too weak from hunger to move.
But Michael shoved me aside and, still protecting Victoria, said coldly,
“Why are you wasting food like this? When you finish washing, you can pick from the trash if you want to eat.”
He seemed about to say more, but I had already lifted Lily, her forehead still bleeding, and turned to follow the manager.
Michael called after me, “If you apologize to Victoria and Ethan—”
“No need.” We wouldn’t be family much longer anyway.
I finished that thought silently and left without looking back.
In the kitchen, I washed dishes alone with my unconscious daughter on my back.
Perhaps out of spite, Victoria kept ordering dish after dish—huge platters that required countless bowls and utensils. There had already been two or three hundred plates, but she continued all night.
I washed from 6 p.m. until midnight, Lily clinging weakly to me.
Then another large basket of dishes was brought in.
The manager, pitying me, whispered, “That lady treated all the restaurant staff to a bowl of birthday noodles.”
We didn’t finish until 3 a.m.
The restaurant owner, unable to stand seeing my misery, stopped me as he was leaving.
He packed a lunchbox and handed it over. “Thank you for your hard work. Give this to the child.”
All day, the only person who showed us kindness was a stranger.
I swallowed my tears and thanked him.
Outside by the flowerbed, I opened the lunchbox and fed Lily spoonful by spoonful.
After eating, her pale face regained a hint of color, though she was still weak.
Her small head rested against my shoulder as she whispered,
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I made you suffer. I don’t want that hair clip anymore.”
She was only five, yet she understood everything.
Hearing her soft apology felt like my heart was soaked in acid.
“It’s okay, Lily. It’s not your fault.” I comforted her and carried her all the way home.
As soon as I opened the door, Michael, who had been sitting on the sofa with his head propped up, stood abruptly.
“Why are you only coming back now?” He approached, holding a cake, a trace of regret on his face.
“It was our daughter’s birthday the day before yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me? The housekeeper mentioned it.”
I lowered my eyes.
What else was there to say?
