Chapter 4

By the time we got back to the neighborhood, it was almost noon.

The sun blazed, and the shadows of the aspen trees along the street stretched out, all crooked and long.

Teresa was standing downstairs, her backpack hanging from her shoulders.

It was Saturday, and Amanda was taking her to her tutoring class.

"Mom," Teresa called, running over and grabbing my hand. "Why did it take you so long?"

Her little hand was still so small, her palm warm in mine, and it made my heart ache.

"Your dad and I just had some things to take care of," I said, forcing a smile. "When you get back tonight, I'll make your favorite fried fish, okay?"

She nodded, then looked up at me. "Mom, why are your eyes so red?"

"It's the wind," I said, coming up with an excuse on the spot.

James‌ walked up behind us, his face unreadable. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Teresa edged closer to me without thinking.

All of a sudden, I pulled her into a tight hug. "Teresa," I said softly. "Remember, I'll always be your mom."

She paused for a second, then nodded, not quite understanding. "Of course."

I gritted my teeth and whispered, "If there ever comes a day when I'm not living with you, just remember I'll always love you. No matter what, if you ever need me, I'll come for you."

Her eyes went wide as she suddenly looked up at me. "Mom, where are you going? Are you leaving me?"

My throat tightened.

James‌ interrupted, sounding impatient. "Alright, enough. Don't scare her."

I didn't answer Teresa's question. I tapped her gently on the forehead. "Remember that, okay?"

Amanda pulled her away.

As she walked off, Teresa waved at me with all her might, shouting, "Mom, wait for me tonight."

I stood there, my feet rooted to the ground.

Her figure blurred little by little until she was gone.

Suddenly, it felt like the whole world went dark.

*****

Three days later, I moved into a run-down part of town.

The real estate agent took me to check out the place. He rattled off, "Studio on the top floor, only 400 dollars a month. Real bargain. A little old, that's all."

Calling it "old" was generous. The place was falling apart.

The walls were damp, the paint bubbling and peeling in white patches.

The bathroom reeked, and cockroaches skittered in the corners.

The kitchen had a single dim yellow bulb, making the whole place feel sickly.

I stood at the door, hesitating for a moment.

The agent asked, "Are you taking it or not?"

I gripped my suitcase and nodded. "I'll take it."

That night, I tossed and turned on that thin mattress, unable to sleep.

Outside, the sounds from the street BBQ stand drifted in, and the greasy smoke slipped in through the cracks.

At two in the morning, I broke down crying. But not a single tear came out. My chest tightened, like I was suffocating.

The next day, I started looking for a job.

That ten-year gap on my resume was like a giant crack running right through it.

Every HR would fixate on that line and ask, "Why haven't you worked in all these years?"

I answered honestly, "My daughter was little and constantly sick, so I had to take care of her. Then my father-in-law had a stroke, and I..."

The HR would give me that polite smile and say, "We'll get back to you."

I knew exactly what that smile meant. That was their way of saying NO without actually saying it.

On the third day, I found myself wandering the supermarket aisles, staring at rows of shampoo bottles.

Back before I got married, there was this brand I liked. It cost 29 dollars, way out of my league now.

I looked at the price tag and finally grabbed the cheapest one for 2.9 dollars.

Suddenly, I remembered how Camila's hair smelled amazing when she was at my place that day. Her shampoo probably cost a hundred times what mine did.

That night, I leaned over the sink in my tiny apartment, staring at myself in the mirror.

My hair was wild, like a bunch of dried grass, and my eyes were so swollen that it looked like someone had punched me.

My skin looked gray, as if wrapped in fog.

I was thirty-eight. But I lived like a woman of fifty.

Right then, it finally hit me. A person could quietly wither away inside a marriage.