Chapter 3 · He Begged Me Back After I Left

"Charlotte, did you and Michael get into a fight?" my mother asked.

I ignored her completely. The thirty-year-old me might have made peace with her, but the twenty-year-old me held nothing but contempt.

She frowned. "Listen to me, honey. Apologize to Michael first, no matter who's at fault."

I looked at her coldly. "What's the matter? Worried he'll cut off your allowance?"

Her face drained of color, her fingers knotting around her purse strap. "How can you speak to me like that? I'm only looking out for you—"

"Looking out for me?" I scoffed. "The same excuse you and Dad gave when you dumped me on my uncle after the divorce?"

Painful memories came rushing back.

When my parents split, out of favoritism, Mom took my sister and Dad took my brother.

At five years old, I was the spare, the useless burden nobody wanted. I clung to their clothes, crying, only to be shoved aside.

They'd said, "We can only take one kid each, sweetie. You'll have to manage for a while. Once we get on our feet, we'll come back for you."

I waited from age five until adulthood, but they never came back.

My sister used to sneer, "You're a stray, Charlotte. Nobody wants you."

My brother would chime in, "You're trash, totally worthless."

Growing up, all I remember was my aunt's venomous glare. "You little leech, your own parents threw you out. Why don't you do everyone a favor and disappear?"

My cousin ripped up my homework for fun.

I had to spend freezing winters washing the entire family's laundry in ice water until my hands cracked with sores.

Back then, I envied my siblings for having real parents, eating whatever they craved, and getting whatever they asked for while I starved. I had a family on paper, but to me, they were as good as dead.

"Things were hard back then. I couldn't afford two kids on my own," my mother murmured, her voice trailing off.

"Hard?" I shot to my feet. "Where did the tuition money for my sister's study abroad program come from? Who bought my brother a brand-new car? Where were you when I couldn't afford a box of pads at my uncle's house?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "Your sister is having a rough time. Her husband's business went under—"

"And what does that have to do with me?"

If her marriage was falling apart, what about mine? Was I supposed to swallow my pride and play nice for a sliver of fake affection?

I grabbed my mother's purse and hurled it toward the front door. "Get out."

The purse hit the floor and spilled its contents, including several luxury boutique receipts. I picked one up, and it was dated yesterday under my sister's name.

They never wanted me back; they wanted a cash cow because I married rich.

My mother scrambled to snatch them back. "No, wait, let me explain. Charlotte, I'll make it up to you, I swear."

I sneered, "Take your garbage and get lost."

A five-year-old me digging through trash cans needed a mother's love, but at twenty, I had outgrown that delusion. I knew the only person who could save me was myself.

Ripping the receipts to shreds, I threw them at her feet. "From here on out, I have nothing to do with you."

Less than thirty minutes after she left, my father called.

Staring at the caller ID, I felt bile rise in my throat.

He began, "Hey, your brother is getting married, and we're short 300 thousand dollars for the wedding and house deposit—"

A sharp laugh escaped me. "What's the matter? Your precious golden boy can't afford a wedding?"

"Watch your tone," he barked, his voice booming through the speaker. "Michael is loaded. This is pocket change to him."

"If he's too broke to afford a wedding, he has no business starting a family. Tell your golden boy to grow up and pay his own way instead of mooching off me." I hung up and blocked his number immediately.

The apartment went dead silent, yet the twenty-year-old in me couldn't forgive the broken thirty-year-old woman I had become.

At twenty, I fought tooth and nail, stubborn and proud, determined to rise above my past and build a life worth living.

But thirty-year-old Charlotte had let herself sink into this quicksand. How could she throw all my hard work away?

Marriage was never a sanctuary. It was a gilded cage slowly choking the life out of me.

Chapter 3

"Charlotte, did you and Michael get into a fight?" my mother asked.

I ignored her completely. The thirty-year-old me might have made peace with her, but the twenty-year-old me held nothing but contempt.

She frowned. "Listen to me, honey. Apologize to Michael first, no matter who's at fault."

I looked at her coldly. "What's the matter? Worried he'll cut off your allowance?"

Her face drained of color, her fingers knotting around her purse strap. "How can you speak to me like that? I'm only looking out for you—"

"Looking out for me?" I scoffed. "The same excuse you and Dad gave when you dumped me on my uncle after the divorce?"

Painful memories came rushing back.

When my parents split, out of favoritism, Mom took my sister and Dad took my brother.

At five years old, I was the spare, the useless burden nobody wanted. I clung to their clothes, crying, only to be shoved aside.

They'd said, "We can only take one kid each, sweetie. You'll have to manage for a while. Once we get on our feet, we'll come back for you."

I waited from age five until adulthood, but they never came back.

My sister used to sneer, "You're a stray, Charlotte. Nobody wants you."

My brother would chime in, "You're trash, totally worthless."

Growing up, all I remember was my aunt's venomous glare. "You little leech, your own parents threw you out. Why don't you do everyone a favor and disappear?"

My cousin ripped up my homework for fun.

I had to spend freezing winters washing the entire family's laundry in ice water until my hands cracked with sores.

"Things were hard back then. I couldn't afford two kids on my own," my mother murmured, her voice trailing off.

Tears welled in her eyes. "Your sister is having a rough time. Her husband's business went under—"

"And what does that have to do with me?"

If her marriage was falling apart, what about mine? Was I supposed to swallow my pride and play nice for a sliver of fake affection?

I grabbed my mother's purse and hurled it toward the front door. "Get out."

The purse hit the floor and spilled its contents, including several luxury boutique receipts. I picked one up, and it was dated yesterday under my sister's name.

They never wanted me back; they wanted a cash cow because I married rich.

My mother scrambled to snatch them back. "No, wait, let me explain. Charlotte, I'll make it up to you, I swear."

I sneered, "Take your garbage and get lost."

A five-year-old me digging through trash cans needed a mother's love, but at twenty, I had outgrown that delusion. I knew the only person who could save me was myself.

Ripping the receipts to shreds, I threw them at her feet. "From here on out, I have nothing to do with you."

Less than thirty minutes after she left, my father called.

Staring at the caller ID, I felt bile rise in my throat.

He began, "Hey, your brother is getting married, and we're short 300 thousand dollars for the wedding and house deposit—"

A sharp laugh escaped me. "What's the matter? Your precious golden boy can't afford a wedding?"

"Watch your tone," he barked, his voice booming through the speaker. "Michael is loaded. This is pocket change to him."

The apartment went dead silent, yet the twenty-year-old in me couldn't forgive the broken thirty-year-old woman I had become.

At twenty, I fought tooth and nail, stubborn and proud, determined to rise above my past and build a life worth living.

But thirty-year-old Charlotte had let herself sink into this quicksand. How could she throw all my hard work away?

Marriage was never a sanctuary. It was a gilded cage slowly choking the life out of me.