“Sarah, wait!” Mark called after her, then
turned to me.
I
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed,
watching their little drama unfold. Mark
hesitated, then turned to me, his face flushed.
“Lily’s sick. I have to go.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You said people should
see a doctor when they’re sick. You’re not a
doctor, what are you going to do there? Play
daddy?”
Mark’s face turned crimson. “How dare you!
Look at what you’ve become! Have you no
compassion? Sarah is a single mother, it’s hard for her. Don’t you have a heart?” He
kicked the door in frustration, rattling the
frame.
<
I watched the door swing back and forth, a cold smile playing on my lips. “Mark, from
now on, I’m staying out of your and Sarah’s
business. You want to give her most of our
money, fine. You want to be a daddy to her
daughter, fine. It’s nothing to do with me
anymore.”
Mark stared at me, speechless. I turned and
went back to the bedroom.
After a moment, I heard Mark’s voice from
the window: “I’m really worried, I need to
check on them. Go to sleep, I’ll be back
soon.”
I watched his figure disappear into the night,
feeling nothing but a strange sense of calm. I
opened a drawer and pulled out a metal tin
that once held mooncakes. Inside was all the
<
Go ahead, Mark.
I don’t need you.
Mark didn’t come home that night. The next
morning, I’d just finished two big meat buns
when he walked in, exhausted. “Lily’s fever
lasted all night. Sarah’s still with her. I had to
come to work,” he said, sitting down and
reaching for a bun… only to find the plate
empty. He paused, looking at me. I swallowed
the last bite of my bun and headed to the
kitchen. I used to have a job, but he was my
priority. I took care of him, made sure he
never missed breakfast. But now I saw clearly,
and I refused to waste myself on this
hopeless marriage. He’d been up all night with
another woman and her child. She could feed
him breakfast, couldn’t she? As for me, with
no job, I couldn’t just sit around. I had to find
<
For two weeks, I searched, but nothing turned
- up. Growing up poor, in a family that favored
boys, I’d only finished third grade before I
started helping my mom make matchboxes to
support the family. No skills, no education….
finding a job was tough.
Finally, I started helping my distant cousin,
Carol, sell scarves and socks at her stall.
Winter was harsh. To make sales, I’d wake up
before dawn, grab a quick breakfast, and help
Carol push her cart to our spot. We’d be set
up just as people headed to work. It was
tiring, long hours, but the money was decent.
The commission was actually almost as much
as I made at the factory. I’d planned to stay
with Carol temporarily, but I started paying
attention. What colors sold best? What styles
were popular? I wrote it all down in a little
notebook. I started working even longer
<
hours, often leaving before Mark woke up and
returning after he was asleep. Exhausted, I’d
collapse into bed after a quick shower. We
barely spoke. I no longer revolved around him.
I didn’t care if he ate, how much he earned,
or that he commuted with Sarah every day.
He could dote on his friend’s widow all he
wanted; I didn’t care. Sometimes, when I got
home, he’d try to talk. But I was too tired, too
busy. I didn’t have the energy. Sometimes, as
I slept, I could feel his gaze on me. He even
offered to pick me up, but our stall moved
around to avoid the authorities. He couldn’t
find me even if he tried. Life went on.
Sometimes I felt like I was single again.
Carol got pregnant again. After three
daughters, her husband had consulted a
fortune teller who guaranteed a son this time.
He wanted her home. By now, my commission
