(Giselle's POV)
I had just returned from the hospital when the door slammed open from the inside.
I hadn't even had a chance to step inside, but the sound of Travis yelling had already hit me like a sledgehammer.
"Where have you been? Were you planning to run away?" his voice echoed loudly even though his voice was low, shaking the cold, damp air from last night's rain.
His eyes blazed with anger, his jaw hardened, and the veins in his neck seemed to tighten.
His face was bright red, like an ember ready to burn anything in its path.
I stood in the doorway, still wearing my shabby hospital clothes.
“I don't need to run, Travis. Nor am I planning to.” I paused. Not until I got my divorce, and take my revenge against them. “I was at the hospital.”
My left arm was now wrapped in a thick bandage and hung limply at my side.
The wound hadn't healed yet, but Travis didn't care. His stern gaze was fixated me as if I had just ran away after committing a crime.
"You think pretending to be sick will make me feel sorry for you? I know your games. Don't pretend. Who knows where you really have been?" he said again, striding quickly toward me with an accusatory look in his eyes.
But he paused, looking at my shabby clothes. I was still wearing the patient's gown because my own dress was drenched with my blood.
“Tsk, you're really good at scheming. Don't be dramatic. I didn't even hit you that hard… Don't test my patience, Giselle.”
I swallowed, restraining myself from screaming.
Yes, he wasn't hard with me enough! He destroyed my left hand, and he was the reason my dad died. But he still thought that it wasn't enough?
But my chest was tight, and the anger I was holding back finally exploded.
"I'm not faking it, Travis. I… I… I can't feel my left hand anymore! You destroyed it! You made me lose my hand!”
He snorted harshly, his eyes narrowed in mockery.
He didn't care. He had no heart. His compassion for me was non-existent, already taken by Esther.
“Who are you lying to? Do you think that little injury can destroy your hand? Tsk, I should've been harder with you. I should've specifically asked for an edged hammer to teach you a lesson. Who would believed that you lost your arm because of that?”
I fell silent. His words slapped me harder and I let out a little laugh.
He didn't believe my words. Since when did I become such a scheming person in his?
Ten years together, and he didn't believe a word I said at all.
I felt my tongue clamp down, but Travis had already walked into the kitchen without waiting for me to speak.
"Henry hasn't eaten yet because of you! Stop your drama and get to cook. That's the only thing you're good at.”
Rage boiled inside me and I felt hard to stand.
Henry had a stomach problem. I heard Travis had it when he was young too. He couldn't eat all kinds of food. So, I specifically learned cooking to suit his tongue and stomach.
Biting my lips, I decided to control my rage. Henry was still my son. I couldn't let him go hungry.
“Hurry up!” Travis ordered, throwing the appron at me.
I stood transfixed, unable to process everything. Travis didn't feel a tinge of guilty for me.
I gulped, swallowing the tears.
With unsteady steps and heavy breathing, I walked into the kitchen.
The floor was still cold, and I had to support my body with my remaining right hand.
Simple tasks like turning on the stove and slicing ingredients now felt like a life-and-death struggle.
I cut carrots with clumsy movements, the knife almost slipping from my grasp every now and then.
The pain from the scar on my arm stung, but I refrained from complaining.
"You're even slower now," Travis' voice came back from the dining room. "You can really act. You didn't even use your left hand all this while… Good, I want to see how long you can keep up acting like you lost your hand.”
I held my breath. I wanted to reply to his words, but my throat was parched. I couldn't utter a single word.
I looked up and saw Henry coming in.
My lips parted and I dragged myself towards him but his eyes remained cold and he grunted, “I know what you did! You're an evil mom!” he shouted suddenly, pointing at me with his small forefinger trembling with emotion.
I backed a step away, still in disbelief that even my own son turned against me.
I tried to keep up my smile. “What… are you saying, Henry…? Would you like to have soup?” My words stuttered while I gasped for breath.
I suddenly felt as if I was cooped in a small room.
“How long are you going to lie? Admit your fault and apologise to aunt Esther immediately! You are a bloody murderer! You thought, you wouldn't get caught trying to kill her? I hate you!”
The tears I tried to hold on, dripped down my cheeks. "No, Dear... it's not what you think. I–”
Before I could finish my sentence, the tiny foot kicked my knee.
Not hard, but enough to make my tired body stagger and kneel on the kitchen floor.
I held my knee as I looked up at Henry who was staring at me hatefully.
I was still in disbelief but then I saw Henry’s eyes. They were cold, and filled with hatred. His eyes had the same glint his father had.
My body quivered unconsciously. Travis was just letting it all happen, without stepping up.
“I hate you! You should've just died!” My lips widened, hearing his words.
The words were heartbreaking, hurting me more than what Travis had given me.
I believed at least, he would understand me. He was my own flesh and blood.
But he didn't care. He only believed Esther, just like his father.
Henry kicked me again and this time — he spat, looking disgustingly towards me. “I don't want to eat food cooked by this disgusting woman!” He said, pointing towards me before he left.
I was still in a trance when Travis came over.
“Did you enjoy getting hated by your son? This is what you deserve! Even your son can't handle your cruelty!” Travis mocked as he slapped my cheeks. It was as if he was trying to make me see the reality.
I held back my tears and glared at him, clenching my fist.
“What are you looking at now? Won’t you cook?” Travis said, glaring at me.
My teeth clenched as I staggered to stand up.
“Keep up acting like you lost your arm. I'd like to see how long you can keep up this act. And, also, even if you lost your hand, it's nothing compared to the pain you caused Esther. Even if you got paralysed, that is what you deserved.” He said, coldly at me before shifting to a gentle tone, “I shouldn't have been gentle with you. You still need to be taught a lesson to drop this act.” He grunted, clenching his jaw.
I looked away and dragged myself to the counter as I began to cut the vegetables again.
Travis stood for a moment as if he was entertaining himself, seeing me helpless but as Esther called him, he rushed to her.
I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back my tears but as soon as he exited, my tears slid down and the kitchen was filled with my wailings.
The room seemed to grow tighter and tighter as I gasped for breath.
Their words echoed in my ears, replaying every moment again and again.
Now, there was no part of me in this home. I was nothing.
I was just someone Travis had kept for his convenience.
I had no family anymore.
My husband and son — they were no more.
My father — dead.
Only my bedridden grandmother was there.
But as I looked at Esther, Travis and Henry laughing and cuddling in the couch from the distance, the shred of pain became numb.
I no longer cared.
From this moment on, I had no bonds with them. I had no son, and I had no connection with this family.
