They Valued a Guinea Pig More Than Me, So I Left Chapter 08
I looked right at him.
The person I’d heated up countless bowls of soup for at three in the morning.
“You’d stream until three a.m. and drag me out of bed to cook for you. One time my hand got in the
frame. A fan asked who that was. You said it was the new housekeeper who couldn’t even heat up
soup right.”
His face changed.
I turned to Ethan.
He took a half step back. His eyes started darting.
“When you were in elementary school, I’d pick you up on rainy days. You thought walking with me
was embarrassing, so you took the only umbrella and told your friends I was the driver’s daughter. I walked home in the rain and ran a fever for two days. Did you feel bad about that even once?”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. So I answered for him.
“You didn’t. You knocked on my door once-because I hadn’t scooped the cat litter.”
The courtyard was so quiet you could hear the shirts shifting on the line.
“That stuff happened every single day in that house. You all just got used to me backing down. Now I’m not doing anything except refusing to play along, and you call that petty. That’s your logic.”
Their faces were pale.
I looked at my mom last.
I’d held this in for years. Never said it.
But I was saying it now.
“You said you never should have had me.”
I watched her pupils shrink. My voice stayed soft and even.
“You meant it. You never wanted to have me.”
Her expression cracked.
I kept going. “When you were pregnant with me, your career was taking off. You took medication 4 just happened to survive anyway.”
“Then, to protect your timeline, you had a C-section a full month early. I wasn’t done cooking. 1
spent a month in an incubator. You wouldn’t even wait one more month for me.”
A split opened in my mother’s face.
Not the arrogance or the anger I knew. Something else. Something that looked like being
unmasked.
Her lips trembled. She didn’t speak.
I looked at her. No tears fell. They just sat there in my eyes, everything I’d stored up for over twen y
years finally having somewhere to go.
“You gave up on me the minute I was born. Didn’t you.”
The wind stopped.
The landlady was standing in her own doorway, holding a bunch of carrots. She didn’t say a word.
I turned and pulled the peeling gate open.
“Go home. I’m not going to attack anyone. But I’m not going to help you either. That’s all I can do.”
They stood there for a moment. Then they turned and walked away.
I stood there for a long time. Finally, the landlady’s voice came from inside, all impatience.
“What are you still doing out there? There’s stew in the pot. Get it yourself. You expect me to serve you?”
I looked back. The cast iron pot on the stove had its lid on, steam pushing through the cracks.
