“My wife.”
Kelly pressed her hand on her forehead and smiled wryly, as if thinking I said that because I was trying to provoke her.
“You used to buy the same brand and style for me all the time, five years ago.”
"So?" I met her gaze calmly.
"You don't have to pretend in front of me. All these years, all I want is for you to be happy, not acting like this."
Huh? Like what?
The glass of the residential area gate showed my reflection.
A casual suit, plain flat shoes and a canvas bag full of groceries. The outfit of someone who was scrambling to make ends meet.
But for someone accustomed to high-end custom-made clothes like me, this look wasn't so bad at all.
I smiled and was not angry. “I think it's pretty good.”
For a brief moment, Kelly's expression softened.
"Mac, you're not the same as you used to be."
“Well, many people say that.”
After speaking, I turned around and left. Without ever looking back, I climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and opened the door.
The interior was still exactly the same as it had been a year ago.
Next to the old television sat my mother’s portrait; the candle before it had long since burned out.
I skillfully placed new candles, then put on an apron and headed into the kitchen.
Soon, three dishes and a soup were ready. Across the table, a bowl of mashed potatoes was left untouched. So, I ate it slowly.
"Mom, I met Kelly today."
“Don’t get angry, okay? She can’t hurt your son anymore. And besides, I'm not as foolish as I used to be.”
But only silence answered me.
Losing my appetite, I put down my fork, walked into the bedroom and pulled out an old photo album.
"Well, looking at your stunning beauty in black and white is so boring."
Before I could open the photo album, a photo fell out onto the floor.
When I bent to pick it up, I finally saw the faces in it. They were mine, Kelly's and Leo's.
Three young faces beaming with carefree smiles in front of the camera. I stood in the middle, arms linked with the other two. I was smiling the brightest, but a gap where my right canine tooth should have been made me look a bit silly.
It was the middle of summer when I was 13 years old.
Debt collectors stormed into Kelly’s home, shouting threats of violence. None of the neighbors dared to help her, including my own parents, except me.
The punch that was meant for her face, unexpectedly, landed on mine.
My teeth shattered instantly and my face swelled for over half a month.
Heartbroken, my mother forbade me from seeing the Jackson Family again.
But unexpectedly, Mrs. Jackson, Kelly's mother, dragged her crippled legs, knelt before my parents and bowed her head repeatedly in gratitude. And so my mother's heart softened.
For nearly ten years, through spring, summer, autumn and winter, Kelly's eating utensils frequently appeared on our dining table and during holidays, new girly clothes added to our wardrobe.
When my mother had free time, she would help Mrs. Jackson run the stall. If anyone dared bully them, she'd unleash a torrent of curses that scared them away for good.
They even called each other sisters.
But no one could have imagined that the timid, insecure younger sister—who even stuttered when speaking—would climb into her elder sister’s husband’s bed.
When I got home, everything was smashed to pieces.
My mother stood in the middle of the room, uncontrollably. A clear, gruesome five-finger marks were printed on her cheek. Meanwhile, my father was holding the woman tightly in his arms.
“Let’s divorce. You can have everything. I only want Emily.”
Kelly, who was standing next to me, panicked and tried to pull Emily Summer's hand.
But my mother slapped her twice.
So, I shoved my mother and watched her fall to the floor.
She stared at me in disbelief. At that time, while crying, I also said the cruelest words.
