Chapter 1

Charles Brooks, my fifty-year-old son, suddenly wanted a divorce.

It was because his wife, Evelyn, worried he might go hungry, brought him some chicken soup in his study. He snapped, complaining that the smell had messed up his latest painting.

I tried to talk some sense into him, telling him to put family first.

Then, my husband, William, who always hated talking to me, suddenly jumped in.

"If you want a divorce, Charles, go for it. Do you want to end up like me, stuck with someone you don't love for the rest of your life?" he said.

That day, his first love from his youth was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and no longer recognized him.

He was devastated and broke down completely.

Charles said coldly, "Mom, you've kept Dad trapped his whole life. Then you stuck me with a woman I never loved for decades. Can you please let us go for once?"

So, after everything Evelyn and I poured into this family, they called it nothing but shackles.

I calmly dumped the bowl of chicken soup in the trash, packed my bags, and walked out with Evelyn.

At the doorway, I said quietly, "Fine, let's all split up."

As soon as I finished speaking, I heard William let out a cold, mocking laugh behind me.

He said, "Charles and Evelyn are having a spat.

"Eleanor, you're nearly seventy now. Don't you feel ashamed saying something like that?"

I stood frozen.

Outside the living room window, the late autumn rain was coming down in sheets, hammering against the glass as if it were beating right on my chest.

That was when it hit me. I was almost seventy, having one foot in the grave already.

William and I had wasted so many years on each other.

I turned around and shot back, calm as ever, "It's not shameful to ask for a divorce.

"The real disgrace is spending your whole life settling for someone you don't love."

I may be old, but my story wasn't finished yet.

William's face went pale, guilt flashing across it.

After a moment, he grumbled angrily, "I said it without thinking.

"We're an old couple now. Love doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

I cut him off, keeping my voice steady, "It's late tonight.

"Whenever you have time, we can go sort out the divorce papers. I heard nowadays you have to sign some forms and work out how to split everything up."

Evelyn's hand was trembling as she carefully slipped her arm through mine.

She'd spent most of her life being the perfect wife, always gentle and accommodating. Now, though she clearly felt uneasy, her words came out firm.

"When the time comes, I'll go with you, and I'll file for divorce, too," she told me.

She was an orphan.

Back then, I saved her by chance. She treated me like her mother before she became my daughter-in-law.

Now that we were leaving the Brooks residence, I guessed we were still family.

Charles was standing in the living room, visibly upset over his precious painting that he claimed had been "ruined."

When he heard us, he frowned and shot us a look of pure disgust.

He said, "If you're leaving, hurry up and go. Dad and I can finally have the house to ourselves.

"Let's see how long you two old ladies can survive out there."

Evelyn and I walked out of the apartment building.

William came storming after us, fuming.

He hurled something at us, and it landed with a splatter in the muddy puddles outside the building, swallowed up by the dark, rainy night.

He shouted through gritted teeth, "If you've got the guts, don't bother coming back.

"Let's see how long it takes before you're knocking on the door, begging Charles and me to let you in."

I glanced at the basket lying in the puddles.

It was my old bamboo basket, the one I always used for groceries.

I'd brought it with me from my hometown ages ago.

I realized I got used to sticking with old stuff.

I'd patched up the broken bamboo strips on the basket more times than I could count.

Countless mornings and evenings, I'd carry it to the local market for groceries.

Then, I'd come home and cook the meals William and Charles liked.

When Evelyn got home from work, she'd clear out the ashtray Charles had packed with cigarette butts, pick up the newspapers William had tossed on the couch, and tackle the mountain of dirty laundry in the hamper.

After that, she'd hurry to set the table, arrange the dishes and utensils, pour two glasses of wine, and help me bring out the cooked food.

At the dinner table, we'd sit side by side, enduring the father and son's constant criticism and snide comments.

After some time, we got used to it, as if that were how things were supposed to be.

But now, I stared at that old bamboo basket out in the pouring rain. It was already battered and falling to pieces.

It had been used for decades, and with one careless throw, it was broken.

Turned out that all the time, it only looked fine on the outside.

Suddenly, I realized that maybe I should've tossed it out years ago, like I should've let go of William and Charles.

Now that I was really leaving, a sense of peace washed over me.

At my age, there was no point in making life harder for myself by braving the rain.

I calmly grabbed the umbrella by the door, opened it, and stepped into the rain with Evelyn.

Evelyn, with her younger reflexes, pulled out her phone and ordered a ride.

The cab took us away from the place we'd called home for so many years.