Chapter 2

The sharp, fresh scent of oranges filled my nose, replacing the constant mildew that lingered in my old apartment.

I blinked awake, my gaze falling on a familiar cutting board.

A knife rested in my right hand, my left pressing down on half an orange, the blade wedged in its peel.

Children shrieked and ran outside the window, and a street vendor's loudspeaker repeated a call for used furniture.

The phone beside the fruit bowl displayed the date: [Tuesday, September 30, 2008]

I glanced at my hands: plump skin, unswollen joints, no scar on my palm from a kitchen knife.

I had traveled back in time, to the year Yale first spoke of studying in Amerelia.

The kitchen door stood ajar, and the family chatted merrily in the living room, unconcerned whether I overheard.

"Which state should we live in once we reach Amerelia?" Sally questioned.

"Mom, Aster City is a city, not divided into states," Stephen responded.

"Where will we settle, then?"

"Willowbrook. There are plenty of people from our country there, so you and Dad can shop easily.

"What will we tell Julia?" Sally asked.

I had arranged orange slices into a neat circle on the plate, with a small flag stuck into an upside-down peel.

I stood at the kitchen door, waiting for the lines I had heard once before, etched into my memory.

"Mom isn't coming. She doesn't speak local language and can't communicate with anyone. Besides, housing is expensive there. We have no extra room for her." Those were Yale's cold words.

"She won't want to come anyway, don't worry," Stephen added, arrogant and dismissive.

I stepped into the living room and set the fruit plate gently on the coffee table, wearing the same weary smile I had always forced.

Then I turned, walked into the bedroom, locked the door, and pretended to focus on freelance work as I usually did.

I sat frozen in the computer chair for minutes, recovering from the shock of going back in time as the memory of stomach pain faded.

I grabbed a pen and notebook, listing every step I needed to take, and did not emerge until 5:30 in the afternoon.

For dinner, I heated leftover braised beef in the microwave for three minutes, spinach and mushroom omelet, and made a pot of creamed spinach soup. I set the table and called the family to eat.

Sally frowned at the spread the moment she saw it and complained loudly, "You serve leftovers? Would a roast kill you? You only made two dishes for all of us. You don't deserve to eat!"

She piled several slices of beef onto Yale's plate as she spoke.

Stephen kept eating and said offhandedly, "Mom is just complaining, don't overthink it. But the dinner is too plain tonight. If we lacked ingredients, you should have gone shopping earlier instead of hiding in the bedroom all day."

Yale scooped food onto his plate and stated, "Whoever makes mistakes gets punished. You made too few dishes, so you have to eat less."

I calmly took a bite of spinach and mushroom omelet, chewing slowly.

"Talk to his teacher at the parent-teacher conference next week. Yale's placement test scores weren't good, and you need to supervise his studies," Stephen told me.

Sally turned to Stephen, asking, "Have you sorted out Mia's class transfer?"

"The teacher said the child's parents need to handle it. I'm only her aunt," I replied.

In truth, I had spoken to the teacher several times. He was the husband of my graduate school classmate, and Mia's transfer to the honors class had already been approved.

"You'll go with Sarah to talk to the teacher afterward," Vincent ordered.

"I worry it will harm Mia. Teachers and classmates will think she has no mother if her aunt handles everything," I said. Silence fell over the table.

"Then speed up the math tutoring for her. Don't let her fall behind once she's in the honors class," Sally commanded.

"Even a doctor cannot cure themselves. She resists my tutoring, making it counterproductive. We should hire a professional tutor instead to avoid holding her back," I responded.

The girl lacked natural talent for math; she could not grasp basic concepts even after three explanations. I would no longer take on this thankless burden.

By the time I finished washing the dishes, it was nearly nine o'clock.

Yale mumbled, "Mom, can I skip the vocab quiz tonight?"

"Of course. It's the weekend. You can rest," I answered.

Yale froze for a second, then darted to the sofa and cheered loudly.

I smiled faintly, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Yanking the closet open, I retrieved the old leather suitcase that had accompanied me since college. With a tug, I unzipped the stiff zipper and slowly packed my clothes and small belongings.

The door pushed open to reveal Stephen. He paused in the doorway, asking, "What are you doing?"

Ignoring him, I continued packing without pausing.

All my clothes for all seasons and a full set of affordable skincare products barely filled half the case.

With a snap, I shut the suitcase and stood upright. "Stephen, I want a divorce."