It was evening when I got home. Michael was on the sofa, spoon–feeding porridge to a pale–looking Lily. They both looked up, startled, when I
walked in.
“Anna, where have you been?” Michael demanded, his brow furrowed. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
I held up my dead phone. “I was at the clinic for a check–up. My battery died.” It was a half–truth. I’d deliberately let it die.
His suspicion faded. “Lily was feeling sick all day, throwing up. I made her some porridge. Her blood sugar was low; she was too shaky to hold the spoon.”
I just raised an eyebrow. I had just told him I was at a clinic, and he didn’t even ask if I was okay. But Lily, with her damsel–in–distress act, got his full attention. This was a man who, in five years of marriage, had never once set foot in our kitchen. But for her, he learned to cook.
Part 1
The love, and the lack of it, was glaringly obvious.
The old me would have started a fight. The new me just wanted out.
“I’m glad she’s feeling better,” I said evenly.
He looked surprised, then smiled. “See? Motherhood is already making you so mature.”
Lily offered a weak smile. “Michael makes the best porridge. There’s some left. You should have some.”
“No, thank you. I’m tired.” I started toward our bedroom.
As soon as my back was turned, Lily started to sob. “Michael, she still hates me, doesn’t she? I offered her food, and she rejected it. She’s doing it on purpose to make me feel unwelcome!”
I sighed, but kept walking.
“Anna, stop!” Michael’s voice was sharp with anger. “Did you hear what Lily said? You are doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You know she’s pregnant and hormonal. Can’t you just be the bigger person for once?”
Iturned back. “I’m not targeting her. I’m also not feeling well. I just want
to rest.”
Michael hesitated. But Lily burst into full–blown hysterics.
Part 1
“She’s trying to drive me out, Michael! I’ll go! I’ll take my baby and I’ll leave! My parents don’t want me, but I’ll beg on the streets if I have to! I’ll raise this child alone! I just want you to be happy!”
She made a dramatic move to stand, knocking the bowl of hot porridge onto her own feet. She cried out in pain but refused to let Michael help her, insisting she had to leave.
He was frantic. He scooped her up in his arms and roared at me. “Anna, are you made of stone? Get over here and apologize to her!”
“You were an orphan!” he spat, his voice laced with a cruelty I’d never heard before. “You know what it’s like to have no one! How can you be so heartless to her? I swear, you were just born bad. No wonder your parents threw you away!”
The words were a physical blow. When we first got married, he’d sworn he would spend his life making up for the love I never had. Now, my deepest wound was a weapon he used against me.
