Chapter 2
Mom dropped the ribs into the pot and fired up the stove.
She said, "You were only seventeen, in your first year of high school. That was a critical time for your studies. If I'd told you your dad was having an affair, do you think you could've focused on your schoolwork?"
"But..." I started.
She continued, "Then you got into college. During freshman and sophomore years, you were adjusting to a new environment. During junior and senior years, you were busy with internships and job hunting. When would have been a good time to tell you?"
I was speechless.
"Last year, you just started your job, and this year you finally settled in. I was planning to wait until you were a bit more mature before I..."
Her voice trailed off.
"Forget it. I never thought he'd let the secret slip himself," she said.
"Mom, all these years..." I said.
"All these years? What about them?" Mom replied.
She picked up the spatula and turned the ribs in the pot.
"Life went on, didn't it? You grew up just the same," Mom said.
"But how much did you have to endure?" I asked.
"Endure?" Mom echoed.
She let out a bitter laugh.
"Breanna, do you even know what it means to be wronged?" Mom asked.
She set down the spatula and leaned against the stove.
She said, "Being wronged is when your dad gives that woman 3 thousand dollars a month for living expenses, but tells me to 'be frugal.'
"Being wronged is when I've had back pain for three years and couldn't bring myself to go to the hospital, your dad calls me dramatic, but when that woman catches a cold, he takes time off work to look after her.
"Being wronged is when you started college, I asked your dad for tuition, and he said the family was struggling and told you to work part-time. That same year, he bought that woman a car."
My hands were trembling.
"How much?" I asked.
"What?" Mom replied.
"That car, how much did it cost?" I pressed.
Mom thought for a moment.
"100 thousand dollars," she said.
Four years of college, working part-time and taking out loans, I had spent less than 30 thousand dollars in total.
But Dad had bought his mistress a 100 thousand dollar car.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"You really want to know?" Mom asked.
"I do," I said.
Mom was silent for a moment.
"The down payment for her house? Your dad paid it. 200 thousand dollars," Mom said.
"And the mortgage?" I asked.
"Yeah, he covers that too. Over 2,500 dollars a month," Mom replied.
I quickly ran the numbers in my head.
It had been eight years.
3 thousand dollars a month for living expenses—3 thousand times 12 months times 8 years, that was 288 thousand dollars.
The car cost 100 thousand dollars.
The house down payment was 200 thousand dollars, and the mortgage was 2,500 dollars a month for 8 years, which totaled 240 thousand dollars.
Altogether, that was 828 thousand dollars.
"Over 700 thousand dollars," I murmured, barely believing it.
"Yeah," Mom replied.
"In eight years, Dad spent more than 828 thousand dollars on her," I said.
"Pretty much," Mom said.
"Did our family... really have that much money?" I whispered.
Mom's lips curled in a bitter smirk.
"Your dad made plenty from his business over the years. But most of it ended up with that woman," she said.
"So what about us..." I started.
"Us? Our family?" Mom echoed.
She gestured around the room.
"Just look at this place. How many years has it been? The paint's peeling, the sofa's a decade old, and the washing machine is the same one I brought as a wedding gift," she said.
"Your dad always said we should save up for your wedding," she added.
"I believed him. I really did," she repeated, her voice trembling.
"Turns out, yeah, there's money, but it's not for us," she said.
I stood frozen, my mind in chaos.
Mom carried on cooking, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"How... how could you endure this for so long?" I asked.
"What else could I do?" Mom replied.
She didn't turn around.
"Divorce? I don't have a job, no income. If I left, would I just starve on the streets?" she said. "Besides, you were still in school. Kids from single-parent families get talked about."
"So you just kept enduring it all this time?" i asked.
"What else?" Mom replied.
She took the ribs out of the pot and placed them on a plate.
"What do you think marriage is? All romance and harmony, living like lovebirds?" she asked.
"Marriage is just about putting up with it. You keep going until the kids are grown, or until you can't take it anymore," she said.
"So... can you still take it now?" I whispered.
Mom froze for a second.
"He said he wants a divorce," Breanna said, her voice trembling. "He wants to marry that woman. He wants to hand over everything, the house, the car, to her."
"Can you still stand it?" I asked.
Mom set down the plate and stayed silent for a long time.
"If he wants a divorce, let him do it," she finally said.
"What?" Breanna blurted out, stunned.
"I've already come to terms with it," Mom said.
She looked at Breanna, and there was something in her eyes I had never seen before.
"I just didn't expect him to act before I could," Mom added.
At seven o'clock, Dad came home.
As soon as he walked in, he saw me sitting in the living room.
"Breanna? What are you doing home?" he asked.
I didn't say anything.
His eyes flickered for a second, then he pretended nothing happened and changed his shoes.
"Where's your mom?" he asked.
"In the kitchen," I replied.
"Oh. What's for dinner tonight?" he asked.
"Sweet and sour ribs. Your favorite," I said.
He paused for a moment, then smiled.