Chapter 3

After Tracy vented her frustration, she left.

I got a bit cold this afternoon, so I ended up coughing a little.

Dad took me to the hospital.

When we got back, he flopped onto the couch like he always did.

Then, with a scowl and clear impatience, he shouted, "Sandra! Is dinner ready yet?"

He stopped halfway, took one look at the pitch-black kitchen, and it finally dawned on him—Mom was gone, and no one was making dinner tonight.

"Let's just order takeout," he said.

I pouted. "Takeout never tastes good, and my stomach still doesn't feel great. Dad, you're always good at everything—I bet you can whip up dinner, right?"

He got up slowly. "Alright, it's just cooking. How hard can it be?"

He walked into the kitchen, found some leftovers from the past couple of days, and tried rinsing the veggies. Water ended up splashing all over him.

The meat was still frozen solid, and after hacking away at it forever, he couldn't even split it in half.

By the end, the kitchen looked like a total disaster.

Dad was the CEO of a company. I had to admit, he was charismatic, loaded, and a force to be reckoned with in the business world—though most of it was thanks to the inheritance from my grandparents.

Back when he first started out, he was pretty humble.

When he married Mom, he made her a heartfelt promise: all she had to do was stay gorgeous, and he'd handle everything else.

But as his company got bigger and he rubbed shoulders with all sorts of people, he started looking down on Mom.

So Mom gave up her career, became a stay-at-home wife, and had me.

Dad was always surrounded by different women, but never Mom.

He kept Mom out of sight, like he was embarrassed to be seen with her.

He thought Mom was clumsy, overly sensitive, and never good at anything except basic chores.

Mom did actually try to find work—she even suggested hiring a nanny to help out at home so she could give working outside a shot.

But Dad shot it down, saying it was just throwing money away and insisting she could easily handle all the chores herself.

He said, "Besides, you're my wife. If you work, it just makes me look bad. Anyway, after being out of work for so long, what could you even do?"

That just made Mom feel more inferior, until she stopped asking about it altogether.

She poured her heart into raising me and took care of the chores around the house.

It was like she'd started seeing herself as nothing more than the hired help.

Dad gripped the knife and stared at the frozen slab of meat, mumbling, "How did your mom even crack this thing open, anyway?"

I hovered nearby. "She usually takes it out to thaw a couple hours before cooking."

He clicked his tongue, set the knife down, trying to save his pride. "I know that. But it's not like I had time today."

He never cared about anything that went on at home, including me.

If he was in a good mood, he'd play the loving dad, like we were an inseparable duo. But if his mood soured, he'd act like I was invisible—like I never existed.

He pulled out his phone, sounding impatient. "Forget it. Let's just order takeout. Cooking is such a hassle—food is food anyway. I'll just send you some cash so you can eat out by yourself from now on. Stop bugging me with stuff like this."

I answered softly, trying to be good. "Okay."

Probably thinking back to Tracy's blow-up earlier, his mood got even worse. After transferring me the money, he called up his friends and headed out to the bar.

After he left, I put the meat in some water to thaw.

Good thing Dad really wasn't that smart.

That made me feel a lot better.

Next up, besides messing with Dad and his side chick, I was going to help Mom get back the assets that were hers.

After Mom left, the place fell apart—our home looked like a total trash heap.

Dad would stumble in reeking of alcohol in the middle of the night, or sometimes just stay out until morning. Nothing got ironed, and his socks were everywhere.

I made sure not to clean up a thing—I wanted to see him call out for Mom on reflex, only to freeze and stand there looking utterly helpless.

Dad tried calling Mom a few times, but she never picked up.

Mom's social feed went completely dark—she pretty much dropped off the face of the earth.

That was when it finally clicked for Dad: this wasn't just some petty fight. He went chasing after the address listed on the divorce papers, only to end up at a random convenience store on the street.

He was furious, saying Mom was totally ungrateful and selfish.

But he couldn't be more wrong. It wasn't Mom—it was him who was selfish and ungrateful.

*****

After raging for half a month, Dad finally managed to get Tracy back on his side.

Guess he couldn't hold on to the main prize, so he ended up settling for scraps.

That evening, I was crouched out on the balcony, giving Mom's plant some water.

Tracy wanted to toss it last time, but I hid it in the corner instead. Now, new leaves were starting to grow.

Suddenly, I heard the door creak open behind me—it was Tracy.

She strutted in, clutching a designer purse, a wide smile plastered across her face.

"Eileen, I'm moving back in. Check it out, I brought you a new toy," she said.

She dropped a plastic toy in front of me, her voice practically oozing with smugness.