Chapter 2
Ernest patted Irene’s head, his voice cool yet gentle. “We’ve had our fun for the day. Mom had a car accident. She needs us now.”
“But Betty’s already home. Can’t she take care of Mom? We’re not doctors. It’s not like we can actually help,” Irene said, her words striking Stella like a physical blow. “Besides, Dad, have you forgotten? Mom’s superwoman. She doesn’t even feel pain.”
As Irene spoke, memories from three years ago flashed through Stella’s mind like a film reel. Back then, a business rival of Ernest, aiming to sabotage a major deal of Lloyd Group, dropped a large pane of glass from a great height.
Stella protected Irene with her own body, taking the full impact. Shards of glass pierced deep into her skin. Irene was terrified by the sight of her mother covered in blood and burst into tears. To calm Irene, Stella lied and said she was a superwoman who couldn’t feel any pain.
‘Now the superwoman mom is injured and in pain, while all her own daughter cares about is some missing light show.’ A bitter mix of emotions washed over Stella.
As if sensing something, Ernest looked up, his gaze lingering. Irene followed his glance and spotted Stella standing in the hallway upstairs.
She lowered her head, a little guilty, but still muttered defiantly, “See? I told you Mom was okay.”
‘Mom’s always been so strong. She handles everything, no matter what. How could she really be hurt? Maybe we can still go back for the light show,’ Irene thought, still sulking.
Watching Ernest head upstairs, Irene pouted but followed, her resentment growing. ‘Mom did this on purpose. She isn’t even hurt, but made Betty say it was serious. Now Ms. Jansen is upset, and so am I. What if Ms. Jansen never takes me out again?’
“You look pale. You should be resting, not standing around. I asked Betty to prepare some oatmeal. Have some when it’s ready,” Ernest said, his tone practical but lacking warmth.
‘Oatmeal? Betty already made me some when I got home. And now my husband’s care arrives three hours late,’ Stella thought to herself.
But she said nothing. She simply nodded and turned back toward the bedroom, too weary to even speak of the pain.
Betty soon brought up a bowl of oatmeal. Worried it might be too bland, she also added some dried apricots to sweeten it. “You should have some too, Miss Irene, or you’ll go to bed hungry,” Betty added kindly. Read full story at
Staring at the oatmeal in front of her, Irene pouted even more. ‘We were supposed to go to a fancy dinner with Ms. Jansen. Now it’s all ruined because of Mom’s phone call.’ But she didn’t dare say it out loud. She knew Ernest would be furious if she did.
Stella had no appetite. Her body ached so badly that she couldn’t even find a comfortable position to lie down. Noticing Stella’s discomfort, Betty spoke up promptly, “Mr. Lloyd, Mrs. Lloyd is still injured. It’s time to change her bandages.”
Ernest’s cold gaze swept over Stella. When he noticed a stain of blood seeping through her clothes, his brow furrowed slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
“There’s nothing to say,” Stella replied. She had long grown used to his indifference. Her heart had turned cold and numb from years of neglect.
As Betty brought out the medical kit, Ernest stood up and took it from her hands. “I’ll handle it,” he said. Betty nodded silently and left the room.
Ernest picked up the supplies and began unwrapping them. But just as he reached to undo Stella’s pajama buttons, his special ringtone cut through the silence. Without hesitation, he set the supplies down and answered the call.
“Ernest, I’ve twisted my ankle. It really hurts. Could you ask Mr. Leach to take me to the hospital?” Sylvia’s voice came through the receiver, trembling slightly with held-back tears.
Irene immediately put down the oatmeal she had barely touched, rushed over, and grabbed Ernest’s arm. “Ms. Jansen is hurt? What’s wrong? She can’t handle pain. Dad, you have to go. Make sure she’s okay.”
Stella’s heart tightened. As she looked at Irene, a dull, throbbing pain spread through her chest. ‘Mom is a superwoman who doesn’t feel pain. Ms. Jansen is someone who can’t handle pain. How ironic.’
Ernest glanced at Stella. After a brief hesitation, he made his decision. “I’ll have Betty come up and change your bandages. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
With that, he placed the medical supplies back on the nightstand and turned to leave. Irene moved to follow, but Ernest stopped her. “Stay here with your Mom.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue before striding out of the room.
Irene stared at Stella’s pale face, unsure where to look. ‘Did I say something wrong,’ she thought, guilt creeping in. “Mom, you’re hurt and need to rest. I’ll go back to my room,” she mumbled, then ran out.
But before she even reached her room, the sound of her smartwatch dialing a number came through clearly. “Ms. Jansen, are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”
Stella lay still. She had expected the suffocating feeling to linger, but to her surprise, she felt only a strange calm.
Although the bandages had been changed, the pain from her wound still made sleep impossible. Lying down put pressure on her injuries, so it was easier to just stand.
She got up and decided to go downstairs for a walk. Just as she reached the door, she heard the sound of a door opening nearby.
She went to the window and saw Irene, wrapped in a starry blanket, running toward the garage. The light of her smartwatch flickered faintly.
“Mr. Smith, hurry. Ms. Jansen wants the oatmeal from that shop in the west side of town,” Irene said to the driver.
Stella slowly took out her phone and dialed a number she hadn’t called in years. But after just two rings, the call was disconnected. A bitter smile touched her lips. As expected, she was not even as important as Betty.
Although Irene was not close to her, Stella couldn’t bring herself to ignore her daughter completely. They were still bound by blood.
So she sent a text to Ernest, letting him know Irene had left the house. This time, the reply came quickly, with just two brief words, [Got it.]
Bored, Stella scrolled through her messages, realizing Ernest had contacted her less often than the spam ads in her inbox. She kept scrolling through her photos until the realization finally sank in.
Her entire daily life revolved around Ernest and Irene. There wasn’t even a trace of herself in her own photos. She had always been the one behind the camera, documenting their lives, much like a quiet observer in what was meant to be her own marriage.
A sudden wave of rebellion washed over Stella. She deleted the photos one by one until the album was completely empty. And she still didn’t find single photo of herself. In that moment, she gave up. It was time to wake up.
In the silent night, she packed her things numbly, then stared at the printed divorce papers. When she reached the custody section, she hesitated for a long time.
Finally, she wrote four words, [I give up everything.] Then she placed the signed agreement and her wedding ring into a file bag. A deep exhaustion settled within her. She couldn’t bring herself to choose love again.