Chapter 1
When I was sixty-three, my husband kicked me out of the house.
He moved into a new house with his mistress and left me behind in the slum.
My legs were so weak I had to cling to the wall just to get around.
He even brought his mistress back just to beat me up.
My daughter came to visit, claiming it was for my own good, but she ended up wrecking my home.
Everyone figured this was it for me, that my life was done.
Until one day a notice of demolition showed up on my door.
*****
When I was sixty-three, my husband threw me out.
It was raining that night.
He stood in the doorway and tossed my luggage outside.
"Get lost," he said.
He said it barely above a whisper.
It was like he was kicking out a dog.
I stood in the hallway and didn't dare to move.
Rain blew in through the gaps in the window, the cold stinging my face.
I wanted to say something, but my voice was gone.
"What are you doing here?" he frowned. "Are you waiting for me to beg you to leave?"
A woman's laughter floated out from inside.
It was young and soft, but it cut into my ears like a knife.
I lowered my head and started picking up the bags from the floor, one by one.
The bags barely weighed anything.
After a lifetime, all I had to my name was just this.
"The keys?" he asked.
He held out his hand.
I hesitated for a moment.
"The keys to the house," he said.
I slowly fished them out of my pocket.
My hand trembled.
He snatched them away.
The door slammed shut in front of me.
The sound was loud and echoed in the hallway.
It felt like something in my life had been shut out for good.
I stood outside the door for a long time.
My legs went numb.
I clung to the wall and shuffled downstairs, one step at a time.
Each step was painfully slow because my legs weren't functioning properly.
It was something I got from years of hard labor when I was young.
On rainy days, it hurt like hell.
That night, it was freezing.
I had nowhere to go.
In the end, I went back to that old house in the slum, the place I'd lived in when I was young.
It was falling apart.
The walls were half bare, the plaster flaking off.
The roof was still leaking.
I pushed the door open, and a damp, musty smell hit me.
It felt like no one had lived there for ages.
I set the bags down and sat on the edge of the bed.
The bed was wooden and creaked every time I moved.
I didn't turn on the light and just sat there.
Outside, the wind stirred.
It whistled through the alley.
It was like someone whispering in the dark.
I had no idea how long I'd been sitting there.
All of a sudden, someone knocked on the door.
I was startled.
"Who?" I asked.
"Mom, it's me." It was my daughter.
I paused for a moment, then quickly got up to open the door.
She was standing at the door, holding an umbrella.
She was neatly dressed, way too polished for this rundown place.
She shot me a look, her brows furrowed.
She walked in and glanced around.
Her expression soured.
"So you're actually going to stay here?" she said.
I nodded.
She suddenly laughed, but her laugh was icy.
She said, "Come with me.
"I have somewhere you can stay."
I shook my head. "No, I'm not going."
She paused, caught off guard.
It was like she didn't expect me to turn her down.
"What are you doing here?" she raised her voice. "Look at this place."
She walked over to the window and yanked the curtain open.
All I could see outside was an empty lot.
A bit further out was nothing but a whole stretch of graves.
She looked shocked.
"Are you crazy?" she snapped.
I kept quiet.
She turned back to me, her eyes growing more and more anxious.
"You're coming with me," she insisted.
I shook my head again. "No."
Her face turned cold.
"So you think you've got some backbone?" she snapped.
I kept my head down and didn't say a word.
The next second, she kicked the table hard, sending it crashing over.
The bowls hit the floor and shattered all over.
"Can you just get a grip?" she yelled.
Her voice trembled.
"Look at you. Why are you still holding on to this place?"
I stood right where I was.
She got angrier the longer she looked at me.
She swept her arm through the cabinet, sending everything flying.
Clothes, bowls, pots and everything scattered across the floor.
The whole room was a wreck in no time.
I just stood there and watched.
I didn't lift a finger to stop her.
By the time she finished, she was out of breath.
"Are you leaving now or not?" she demanded.
I slowly raised my head and looked at her.
Then, I gently shook my head.
She was stunned.
Her expression shifted in an instant.
Her anger melted away, replaced by disappointment.
"Suit yourself," she muttered.
"You're on your own now."
She turned and left without another word.