Chapter 2

"Go, take your mother-in-law down to the downstairs square," my dad said. His voice came through the phone, clear and calm.

I froze. "Dad, what did you say?"

"I said, take your mother-in-law, Margaret, in her wheelchair to the main square downstairs in your apartment complex," my dad repeated, speaking slowly and clearly.

"And then?" I still didn't get it.

"Then, print out a bunch of photos of your husband and his mistress, make them as big as you can, and plaster them all over the wheelchair and Margaret herself."

I was completely dumbfounded.

What kind of idea was that?

Did he really want me to wheel my paralyzed mother-in-law downstairs like some sideshow?

"Dad, we shouldn't air our dirty laundry in public," I blurted out, almost without thinking.

"Dirty laundry?" my dad scoffed. "Did David ever think about dirty laundry when he was out there living it up?

"He treats you like a workhorse, making you slave away for his paralyzed mom, while he's off enjoying himself overseas with another woman. Did he ever care about dirty laundry then?

"Claire, listen to me: some people have zero shame, so don't bother saving their face. The more you try to hide it, the bolder they get.

"You need to stir things up, let everyone see the truth. Only then will he know what real pain feels like."

My dad's words hit me like a ton of bricks.

He was right.

Why was I constantly covering for him?

For the past three years, I'd been living like I were invisible.

All the neighbors went on about what a devoted son David was, and how lucky he was to have such a good wife.

Even his bosses at work praised him for being such a family man, always going the extra mile for his mom.

He'd got this whole "perfect husband, perfect son" act going, sitting back and enjoying everything I do for him, while cheating on me without a shred of guilt.

Why should I put up with this?

"But Margaret is innocent," I said, still hesitating.

After all, she was still suffering.

"Innocent?" My dad's voice turned even colder. "Claire, you're way too naive. Margaret's body might be paralyzed, but her mind is sharp as ever.

"How many times has David actually come home in the past three years? And how long did he stay each time? Does he spend more money on you, or on that woman he's messing around with?

"Trust me, she knows exactly what's going on. She's just pretending to be clueless so she can keep enjoying all the attention and care you give her.

"Her son must think he's a genius, tricking some naive woman into being his free housekeeper. Margaret's probably feeling pretty proud of herself."

My dad's words were like a knife, cutting straight through the truth I'd been too afraid to face.

Yeah, she knew everything.

They were playing good cop, bad cop, and I was the fool caught in their game.

I really was a total idiot.

Any last bit of hesitation I had was gone.

All that was left was a cold, icy feeling and a wave of fury that threatened to drown me.

"Dad, I know what I have to do," I said, my voice steady.

"That's the spirit," my dad said, his tone softening a bit. "Claire, remember: if you're too nice, people will walk all over you. You need to make them pay back every bit of what they've done to you, tenfold, a hundredfold.

"Just do it. I've got your back."

After hanging up, the strength flooded back into me.

I wasn't alone.

I still had my dad.

I booted up my laptop and found that photo.

I connected the printer.

I loaded it with A3 glossy paper and set it to print in color.

Their smiles in the photo were so fake and dazzling that it almost hurt to look at them.

I hit the print button.

The printer hummed to life, spitting out photo after photo.

I printed out twenty of them.

Then I dug up some old photos of David at company events, dressed to the nines in a suit, looking all important as he gave speeches on stage.

His name, job title, and the company logo were printed right below his picture.

I printed out twenty of those as well.

By the time I finished, the sky was already starting to lighten.

I hadn't slept a wink all night, but I felt wide awake.

I walked into Margaret's room.

She was out cold, a faint snore escaping her lips.

I looked at her and felt absolutely nothing.

I pulled out my phone and sent David a message on WhatsApp: [I'll be waiting for you to come back.]

After sending it, I put my phone on silent and tossed it onto the couch.

I walked into the kitchen and cooked myself a bowl of pasta.

I couldn't fight on an empty stomach.

Once I'd finished eating, I started getting ready.

I found the biggest cardboard box in the house, tore it open, and flattened it out.

Then I grabbed the thickest marker I could find and started writing on it.

It read: [David, the shameless son. While his mother is stuck in bed, paralyzed, he's stealing our marital money to take his mistress Jessica on a trip abroad.]

I wrote every word as big and bold as I could, pressing down hard with the marker.

The tip of the marker scraped against the cardboard, making a rough, scratchy sound.

It was like the roar of my anger finally breaking free.

When I was done, I propped the cardboard up against the wall.

Looking at my handiwork, I nodded in satisfaction.

Everything was ready. All that was left was to wait for the perfect timing.

And that timing? When the square downstairs was packed with people.

At ten in the morning, the old folks had wrapped up their morning workouts, finished shopping for groceries, and were hanging out together, shooting the breeze and catching up on neighborhood gossip.

That was the perfect stage.

*****

At 9:30 in the morning, I headed into Margaret's room.

"Mom, it's time for your medicine," I said.

I helped her up, just like I always do.

She grumbled, her face full of impatience.

I patiently helped her take her medicine.

Then I said, "Mom, the weather's nice today. How about I wheel you downstairs to get some sun and fresh air?"

Margaret looked a bit surprised.

Over the past three years, since she's pretty heavy and it's always a pain getting her up and down the stairs, I seldom took her outside.

She didn't want the trouble, and honestly, I didn't want the extra work either.

So, when I brought it up, she was actually a bit surprised.

"Sure, that sounds nice," she said, giving me a rare smile.

I picked out her nicest coat and helped her put it on.

Then I lifted her into the wheelchair.

I'd done this a thousand times before, so it was second nature to me now.

I tucked a blanket around her.

Everything was ready.

I pulled out the photos I'd printed the day before.

With tape, I stuck them on one by one, making sure they were firmly attached to the wheelchair's backrest, the armrests, and even the blanket covering Margaret.

David and Jessica's grinning faces were plastered everywhere, impossible to miss from any angle.

Margaret couldn't see the photos on the back of the wheelchair, but she noticed the ones on the blanket.

"Claire, what's this?" she asked, reaching out to touch them.

"Mom, it's David," I said with a smile. "He thought you might miss him, so he asked me to put his photos here so you could see him whenever you want."

Margaret's face lit up with a big smile.

"My son is so devoted," she said with pride, gently stroking David's face in the photo.

I watched her, a cold, sarcastic smile curling on my lips.

Yeah, her son was so "devoted".