Chapter 3: Falling Apart

***

As soon as I finished speaking—

"Lillian." Jason’s voice cut in, stern.

I looked up again.

Rachel’s eyes were already red, tears threatening to fall.

Rachel sniffed, blinking fast. Her mascara smudged a little, making her look fragile.

Seeing Rachel about to cry, Caleb grew agitated again.

"Mom, don’t cry. You’re bad!"

He flung the medicine bowl at me again.

The bowl bounced off my thigh, medicine splattering onto my jeans. I didn’t flinch.

[I don’t get what the supporting character is doing. She’s pitiful, but this is what the plot demands.]

[The supporting character can only accept her fate. Next, the male lead will arrange for the main character to be Caleb’s private tutor.]

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the sting of the medicine soak through the denim to my skin. I didn’t even feel the wetness anymore.

Seeing the plot foretold in the comments, I ignored the brown medicine staining my clothes. I staggered out the door. In the past, I would have ignored my own feelings and gone to comfort Caleb first. But today, I just felt so tired.

I closed the door softly behind me, letting the cool air of the hallway wash over my face. This time, I didn’t look back.

Four years ago, at Grandpa Parker’s birthday dinner,

He took a liking to me at first sight.

"Miss Miller, you studied early childhood psychology?"

The old house was decorated with banners and streamers. I wore a too-tight dress borrowed from my stepsister, feeling completely out of place among the Parker family’s polished friends.

My father hadn’t even processed the question before nodding blankly. The next day, the Parker family announced an arranged marriage with my family, naming me specifically. Even if it meant being Jason’s second wife, my father was as happy as if he’d won the lottery.

He bragged about it to everyone at his office, as if I’d landed a six-figure job instead of a husband with a broken family and a child in pain.

At that time, my stepmother sneered:

"Last month, a Harvard-educated psychologist was bitten by that little monster from the Parker family and needed five stitches."

She covered her mouth, snickering,

"I wonder how long your delicate skin will last..."

She always did like to remind me of my place. I remember her voice, sharp and cold, echoing in the kitchen late at night.

But a month later, I registered my marriage with Jason. He used the same tone he used for business negotiations to tell me:

"Every Wednesday and Friday night, accompany Caleb for sensory integration training. Saturday mornings, take him out to experience nature."

He handed me a color-coded calendar, all business. There was never any talk about us—just schedules and rules for Caleb.

Outside the big living room window, rain poured down. I clutched the newly issued marriage certificate, my knuckles white. It felt less like a marriage, and more like signing an employment contract.

The thunder rattled the window panes, and I sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the official seal, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.