My eyes grew colder, my voice devoid of warmth.
"Eason, do you think I'm lying?"
He didn't answer, but his expression said everything.
The medical records were real.
I had accompanied my mother for the check-up six months ago.
So Cindy she focused on the plane ticket.
My mother didn't take a plane.
Airfare was too costly.
To save money for my dowry, she endured a grueling 30-hour train ride in a hard seat.
It was just to attend a wedding that didn't exist.
Yet Eason couldn't even be bothered to play his part.
In hindsight, he had never truly reciprocated my feelings. Our ending was inevitable from the moment we met.
I deluded myself into believing he loved me, searching for signs in every moment we shared.
Everything was fine for five years.
But Cindy's arrival shattered that fragile balance.
Eason started feeling real emotions—joy, anger, sorrow—and he learned to love.
He would consult me when Cindy had a stomachache.
He'd stock allergy medicine in the car for her.
He paraded Cindy at every event of the Garcia Group, introducing her as his perfect work partner.
In comparison, I felt like a rat, undeserving and discarded.
Even when I laid down my pride, allowing him to trample over my dignity, I couldn't secure a place in this battle for his heart.
I no longer wanted what I could never have.
Cindy's face swelled from where I had hit her, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Eason, seething with rage, cursed as he tended to her, applying ointment with practiced ease.
After soothing Cindy, he turned to me, his tone threatening.
"Yara, stop being so shameless. Cindy did nothing wrong. When she woke up in the hospital yesterday, the first thing she did was urge me to find you at the wedding."
"Look at yourself now—a jealous wreck! How can you even compare to her kindness?"
"Yara, this is your last chance—apologize to her!"
"If you cause more trouble, get out of here!"
I ignored him, focused on gathering my scattered belongings.
As time ticked by, Eason's patience wore thin.
He strode over, grabbed my hair, and yanked my head back. His face twisted with rage.
Pain shot through my scalp as I gritted my teeth, refusing to scream. My eyes, bloodshot, locked onto his.
"Didn't you hear me? Or have you forgotten how to apologize? I've spoiled you too much, Yara!"
"Want your mom's meat pies so bad? How do they taste now?"