Chapter 5
He didn't get what I meant, and he thought I was being sharp-tongued.
He lowered his head and said softly, "I knew it. Coming back was a mistake."
He quickly replied, "It's not your fault."
I cut in, "Yeah, of course it's not your fault. You left, came back, got nowhere to stay, no money to get by, nobody to watch your kid, can't even fix a light, cook a meal, or buy medicine, and yet you always rely on others for everything."
He went completely pale.
He snapped, "Enough."
The kid shrank back, scared.
I glanced at the kid and lowered my voice.
"Don't shout here. The kid's still here," I said quietly.
He froze.
I pressed the button and headed upstairs.
At that very moment as the elevator doors closed, I heard White Moonlight crying.
'I knew it. She'll never forgive me,' White Moonlight sobbed.
He murmured softly to him, "Don't cry. I'll take care of it."
I leaned against the elevator wall and let out a small laugh.
'Take care of it, huh,' I scoffed to myself.
He always thought I was the problem.
Whatever.
Soon enough, he'd realize the real problem was the one he was holding in his arms.
Half a month later, he couldn't sleep for the first time.
That's what he told me himself.
At three in the morning, he texted me: [Are you asleep?]
I'd woken up from a dream, glanced at my phone, and didn't bother to reply.
He texted again: [I can't sleep.]
I put my phone on silent and went back to sleep.
When I woke up in the morning, there were a dozen unread messages.
[Her kid woke up in the middle of the night asking for her dad.]
[She's been all over the place, crying her eyes out.]
[I spent the whole night on the couch, didn't sleep a wink.]
[Didn't you always leave the light on for me when I came home?]
After reading his messages, I replied:
[That'll cost you.]
He shot back right away: [What?]
I said: [Emotional support hotline, twenty bucks a minute.]
He didn't reply.
After washing up and getting dressed, I headed out for work.
Downstairs from my office, I grabbed a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
as I took a bite, my phone rang: it was him.
"Do you always have to stab me with your words?" he asked.
With a mouthful of sandwich, I replied, "You're the one who keeps running straight into the blade."
He paused for a moment. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Go talk to her."
"She won't listen. She cries."
I laughed. "You always fall for that, don't you?"
His breath caught for a moment.
Before he could say anything, I cut him off. "I've got to get to work."
before I hung up, he suddenly said, "Don't forget to water the pothos at home."
"Don't forget to water the pothos at home."
I stopped in my tracks.
He was the one who bought that plant.
He watered it every day for the first week, then forgot all about it.
For three years, I was the one taking care of it.
I glanced at my reflection in the lobby's glass doors: barely any makeup, but my eyes were shining.
"I already gave it away," I said.
His tone shifted. "Who did you give it to?"
"The cleaning lady. She liked it."
"That was mine."
"You bought plenty of things. Slippers, mugs, pajamas, razors, which are all gone now."
He got flustered. "What gives you the right?"
I shot back, "You already left. Why should your stuff stay and take up space?"
He was dead silent on the other end.
I hung up.