Chapter 7: Memories and Money

At the mention of my mom, I paused.

A pang of memory hit me—Sunday dinners around the scratched kitchen table, my mom’s laugh filling the room, her hands always busy making too much food. If anyone was most unwilling for me and Jason to divorce, it was my mom.

Jason and I had struggled together since we were seventeen. During the hardest times, we’d share a single burger, and he’d pick out all the fries for me. In the dead of winter, Jason’s old Ford barely started, but he’d drive across town for any gig he could find. He was always reluctant to spend on himself, but he bought me a ring.

"It’s just a plain band now, but I’ll get you a bigger, brighter diamond someday."

We once lived in a tiny basement apartment. There was no heat in winter, so we’d huddle together for warmth. In summer, when it was too hot, Jason took me to sleep in the city park.

My mom saw all of this. She felt sorry for me and sold everything she had to help Jason start his business.

When he made his first big profit, he bought a spacious apartment downtown, with central air and heat. In front of my mom, he swore he’d be good to me forever.

My mom was moved to tears and only said one thing:

"You two must be happy in the future."

I was once full of hope, thinking life would be good.

But in just two or three years, everything changed beyond recognition. Jason cheated. My mom got cancer. Her treatment cost hundreds of thousands every year. If it weren’t for Jason’s support, I might have lost her long ago.

But now…

"No need to trouble you. Thank you."

I politely ended the conversation and left.

I didn’t look back as I walked out. The sunlight outside was bright, almost blinding, making the whole city look new and strange.