(From Ashes to Hope) Chapter 2
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But my husband had no interest in such details. He never cared about my
allergies, never bothered to learn about perfume ingredients or find one that was
suitable for me.
His heart belonged only to himself and his ex–girlfriend, nothing else
mattered.
In the past, every gift from him, be it expensive jewelry or a simple trinket,
filled me with joy, like a child receiving candy. I loved him, he held the most
important place in my heart. I cherished every gift, every gesture of affection.
Perhaps it was my unconditional love that made him think it was cheap,
something he could trample on at will.
And now, he had trampled on my daughter’s life.
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The thought of Lily squeezed my heart, tears welled up, my eyes reddened.
“Sign it,” I said again, “Lily won’t bother you anymore. My daughter doesn’t
need anyone’s forgiveness, she did nothing wrong. She was just an innocent
child, treated so cruelly by you. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
My voice trembled, my last shred of defiance and persistence.
I didn’t want Lily’s death to be dismissed, I wanted justice for her.
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Her only mistake was being John’s daughter, a fate that brought her
unimaginable suffering.
John’s face darkened at my stubbornness, like the sky before a storm.
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“Are you done? I gave you a gift, what more do you want? Our daughter is
this old and you want a divorce? I’m warning you, don’t even think about custody!
You ungrateful woman, you’re nothing without me, don’t even dream of taking
my daughter, you’re not capable.”
His words were laced with threats, as if he was the victim.
“You’re crazy!”
He shouted, unleashing years of pent–up frustration.
After venting his anger, he turned and left, his resolute back like a cold blade
piercing my heart.
It was our first fight in ten years, and he still thought I was just jealous, like
before.
In his mind, I would always be the woman he could easily coax back.
Maybe he didn’t even need to coax me. As long as he came home, he’d find
me with dinner ready, waiting obediently. Then, just like before, we’d silently
end the cold war, maintaining the facade of harmony.
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But this time, it was different.
I wanted to end this decaying marriage.
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I stood there, memories flooding back, everything we had was now shattered.
His transformation shocked and saddened me. The man who, even without
love, would maintain my dignity as his wife in public was gone, replaced by a
selfish, cold, and heartless stranger.
Perhaps I never truly knew him.
I started to recall every detail about Lily, her innocent smile, her cheerful
laughter, the warmth of her small hand in mine.
She was my heart, my light.
And he had so easily trampled on her life, ignored her existence.
Anger surged within me, but I knew I couldn’t wallow in pain.
I had to seek justice for Lily, make him pay for what he had done.
I carefully organized Lily’s belongings, each item a precious memory: her
little clothes, her toys, her drawings.
These objects tore at my heart, but also strengthened my resolve to leave him.
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I placed the keys and the signed divorce papers on the table, and walked
away from the home we shared for five years, bidding farewell to the past and
the man I once loved.
The door closed behind me, seemingly closing a chapter of painful
memories.
My feelings for John began as a naive crush, lingering for five long years. Then, fate intervened, and we entered into marriage, spending another five years
together.
Looking back, each experience felt like a scene carefully orchestrated by
destiny.
My union with him came at the heavy price of my mother’s life; and the end of this relationship took my beloved daughter away from me forever.
Initially, my mother was just a housekeeper for the Miller family.
She was kind, hardworking, and patient, caring for John’s mother for over a
decade.
The Millers adored my mother, recognizing her dedication, and gave her a raise almost every year as a token of their gratitude and respect.
One ordinary day, my mother accompanied Mrs. Miller on a shopping trip,
just like any other day.
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They strolled leisurely through the stores, unaware of the lurking danger.
A group of kidnappers were watching them, desperate men driven to the
edge by failed business ventures and bankruptcy.
They observed the passersby, deducing from Mrs. Miller’s attire that she
came from a wealthy family. They hatched a plan to kidnap her for ransom,
hoping to escape their predicament.
As Mrs. Miller and my mother headed towards the parking lot, the
kidnappers saw their opportunity.
They pounced like demons from the shadows.
Some wielded clubs, glinting menacingly in the sunlight, like harbingers of
death. Others held thick ropes, tightly clutched in their hands, like shackles ready
to bind their victims.
They charged forward, shouting threats, their aggression chilling to the bone.
My mother, without hesitation, shielded Mrs. Miller with her body.
The kidnappers had anticipated an easy abduction, not expecting a second
woman to intervene.
They were momentarily stunned, their expressions frozen in surprise.
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One of them lunged forward, grabbing my mother’s arm with a vice–like
grip, trying to pull her away.
But my mother stood firm, her feet rooted to the ground, using all her
strength to protect John’s mother.
Her face was resolute, her forehead creased with determination, as she
resisted the kidnapper’s pull.
Frustrated, one of the kidnappers pulled out a gleaming knife.
The blade flashed in the sunlight, a chilling reminder of mortality.
My mother didn’t flinch. Seizing the opportunity, she reached out and
grabbed the knife.
The kidnapper, taken aback, wildly swung the knife, the sharp blade whistling through the air, like the whisper of death.
In the chaos, the knife sliced my mother’s arm, blood gushing out, staining
her sleeve crimson.
The vibrant red was stark against the sunlight. My mother bit her lip,
suppressing the pain, refusing to give up.
Her lip bled, sweat and blood mingled and streamed down her face. With
her other hand, she clung desperately to the kidnapper’s clothes.
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The kidnapper, his movement restricted, panicked and plunged the knife
into her back.
My mother’s body shuddered, but she still held on tight.
Her consciousness began to fade, time seemed to stand still, each second an
agonizing eternity.
hope.
Finally, the wail of sirens pierced the air, growing louder, like a beacon of
The kidnappers, hearing the sirens, panicked and fled, only to be
apprehended by the arriving police.
Mrs. Miller was safe, but my mother lay in a pool of blood, clinging to life.
< <From Ashes to Hope.
