Chapter 2
Donald scoffed when he heard me talk about making money. "Emily Lee, not only have you run away from home, but you've also started lying. You haven't worked a single day since you graduated. Do you even know how to earn a living?"
Hearing Donald's usual put-downs, I still felt a faint, lingering ache in my heart, despite the warmth from that 800-dollar transfer.
I couldn't understand why the man who had showered me with sweet words and cared for me so tenderly before marriage kept hurting me with his words and actions again and again after we got married.
To Donald, I was some clueless woman whose only skill was asking for money.
I didn't want to waste my breath arguing with him. "Believe whatever you want. I'm exhausted, I need some rest."
Right before I hung up, I heard Donald's impatient voice. "Fine, another 100 bucks. I'll bump it up to 500 bucks a month. Don't push your luck."
On the other end of the line, the house sounded like a madhouse: shouting, clattering, chaos everywhere.
Alex's cries were sharp and piercing, mixed with raspy coughs. "Dad, my throat hurts so bad."
Bella's high-pitched, weak voice cut through his cries. "My chest hurts. Where are my pills?"
Suddenly, there was a heavy metallic clang, like a stainless steel bowl crashing to the floor.
Peter's gruff, impatient grumble drifted through the phone. "My back hurts. Donald, get over here and help me."
Donald sounded even more annoyed.
He finally made up his mind and threw down an ultimatum. "600 bucks a month, that's all you're getting. Not a penny more. You'd better appreciate it. That's already twice what you got before."
I rolled my eyes. "Keep your 600 bucks. Hire someone else."
I hung up decisively and treated myself to a hot shower.
Back in that house, even a hot shower felt like a rare luxury. With five of us under one roof, we had to take turns bathing.
On top of washing myself, I always had to help Alex with his bath.
Sometimes Alex would misbehave while playing, or Bella and Peter would start complaining about feeling unwell in the living room.
Even if I was halfway through my shower, I would have to rush out immediately to handle things.
Amid all that chaos, I never got to relax and enjoy a proper shower. I could only hurry to finish as quickly as possible.
*****
When I got out of the shower, my phone was full of missed calls from Donald.
I answered, irritated. "I told you, I'm not coming back."
Donald sounded frantic. "Something's wrong with Alex."
On the other end, Alex was gasping for air, his breathing raspy and wheezy. "Dad, I feel awful."
Peter shouted anxiously, "The kid's all red. Is he running a fever? Where's the fever medicine?"
My heart skipped a beat. It suddenly dawned on me. "Alex is having an allergic reaction. Did any of you give him peanuts?"
Everyone on the other end of the line froze.
"Wait, Alex's allergic to peanuts? I never heard about that."
"Is Emily freaking us out? Tonight's takeout was salad, but Alex didn't touch any peanuts."
I was practically pacing in circles, my voice shaking with panic. "He's definitely having an allergic reaction. Get him the allergy meds. They're in the third drawer of the living room cabinet.
"If Alex starts grabbing at his throat or his lips turn blue, you need to get him to the hospital right away. Hurry."
On the other end, it was chaos.
I couldn't tell if they were actually handling it right, so I grabbed a cab and headed home.
When I got home and saw Alex sleeping soundly after taking his meds, I finally let out a sigh of relief. But I couldn't hold back and lashed out at Donald. "I told you a lot of times.
"Alex is allergic to peanuts. That's why there are never any peanuts in our house. What kind of father are you?"
Donald refused to back down. "I'm working all day. How am I supposed to keep up with every little thing?"
Bella chimed in, fanning the flames. "You finally chose to show up, did you? A child means everything to a mother, and you walked away from yours. How can you raise your voice right now?
"Donald works long hours. Meanwhile, you never cared about this family at all."
I was literally trembling with anger at how they spun the story, turning the truth upside down and making me out to be the villain.
I looked around.
The place looked like it had been ransacked. Takeout containers were piled up on the coffee table, the sauce hardened into a greasy mess, and a few flies were buzzing around.
Dirty clothes and pill bottles were piled in the corner of the couch, bits of food stuck to them from who knows which meal.
The stench hit my nose, and my stomach churned.