Chapter 3
"That's your house, so you should be the one paying the mortgage."
I repeated it, making sure she couldn't pretend she didn't hear.
Margaret stormed into the bedroom, reaching for my suitcase.
"Living here, eating our food, and you still refuse to pay the mortgage?"
I held the suitcase down, not letting her move it.
"I've paid 160,000 dollars over the past three years. Isn't that enough?"
"That's your responsibility!"
"That's not what the law says."
Her hand froze in midair.
Edward came out of the guest room, looking annoyed.
"What's all the noise about in the middle of the night?" he grumbled.
Margaret shoved her phone at him, showing the failed payment alert.
"Your wife won't pay the mortgage! She wants us all out on the street!" she shrieked.
Edward turned to me, his face cold.
"Fix it by tomorrow morning," he ordered.
"I'm not paying it," I said, my voice steady.
"Emily, don't push it," he warned.
I pulled a printed bank statement from the side pocket of my suitcase and laid it on the bed.
"160,000 dollars for the mortgage, 86,000 for three years of property fees and utilities, and 130,000 for home renovations, appliances, and daily expenses. That adds up to 376,000 dollars. And you?"
Edward opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"Have you ever spent a single cent on this family?"
"My money's just with my mom for safekeeping, it's not like I'm actually spending it!"
"Then use it to pay the mortgage."
Margaret immediately clutched her phone to her chest.
"That money can't be touched! Edward needs it for a new car and investments—how else is he supposed to get ahead?" she snapped.
"So my money's just there for the taking?" I shot back.
"You're his wife!"
"A wife isn't an ATM."
The room went quiet for a few seconds.
Edward snatched up the bank statement and crushed it in his fist.
"Are you just picking fights at home because things aren't going well at work?" he snapped.
I glanced at the crumpled paper on the floor.
"From tomorrow on, you two can deal with the mortgage, bills, groceries, and housework yourselves," I said, my voice steady.
Margaret wailed and beat her leg, plopping down on the floor.
"I've lived sixty years and never seen such a heartless daughter-in-law! What's the point of marrying you if you won't even support your mother-in-law?" she bawled.
Every time she cried like this, Edward would always make me apologize.
And this time was no different.
"Apologize to Mom," he ordered.
I grabbed my phone and documents.
"I have a flight to catch," I said, not even looking at him.
"Where are you going?"
"Business trip."
"Did I say you could go?"
I paused by the door.
"The company assigned me. I don't need your approval."
Edward stepped in front of me, blocking my way.
"What about the house if you leave?"
I glanced at Margaret, still sitting on the floor.
"Weren't you always saying it doesn't matter if I'm here or not?"
He froze, speechless.
I grabbed my suitcase and walked out the door.
The airport car was already downstairs, waiting for me.
As the driver loaded my suitcase into the trunk, Edward rushed out after me.
"When are you coming back?"
"When the job's done."
"How many days exactly?"
I didn't answer.
The car door slammed shut, and he stood there on the curb, looking furious.
At ten in the morning, my flight took off right on schedule.
Before I powered off my phone, I received four voice messages from Margaret.
The first was her demanding my bank card password.
The second was her asking where I'd put the meat in the fridge.
The third was her ordering me to cancel the business trip and come home to cook dinner.
The fourth was just one sentence.
"If you don't come back, don't ever set foot in the Harrington Family again!"
I deleted the messages and turned off my phone.
Before the plane landed, Richard sent the Rosenheim Initiative documents to my work email.
The client had already rejected three versions of the proposal.
The contract was worth 24 million dollars.
If we failed again, the company would have to pay a penalty.
After landing, I went straight to the Rosenheim Operations Branch.
The meeting ran from afternoon into the late night.
The Rosenheim Project Team didn't think much of me at first.
I broke down the problems in the three previous proposals, then rearranged the team and the schedule.
The next day, I took the team to meet the client.
On the third day, the client agreed to give us ten days to submit a new proposal.
It wasn't until the fourth night that I finally made it back to my apartment.
After a shower, I turned on my personal phone.
The screen froze for a few seconds.
79 missed calls.
126 unread messages.
The first message was from Edward.
Edward: [Mom doesn't know how to use the washing machine. Send her the steps.]
[Why won't the gas stove turn on?]
[The property management said we're behind on payments, so the elevator card's been suspended.]
[The mortgage is overdue. Why is the bank contacting me?]
His messages got more and more urgent.
[Emily, pick up the phone!]
[Where the hell are you?]
The last message came in just ten minutes ago.
It was only half a sentence.
[Mom's in the hospital. The doctor said]