Joe coaxed me softly over the phone.

"All right, all right. We've been apart for so many years. Let's have a family reunion dinner with our son."

I muttered a casual reply and hung up.

On the bus, my phone kept pinging. It was Joe sending photos of a restaurant.

The dishes in the pictures were beyond anything my son and I could have imagined. Normally, a simple plate of pickles would make him hum with happiness. He had never known a day of indulgence in his life.

I had once believed that if I just worked hard enough, earned enough money, I could ransom Joe and provide a shield over my son and me. But all along, it had been a lie. My years of toil were nothing but a cruel joke.

Tears fell onto the ashes, and only then did I realize my face was already soaked. I turned off the screen, wiped my tears, and closed my eyes tightly.

'Joe… I'm done playing along with your lies.'

…

That night, I didn't return home. I took my son's ashes to the seaside.

He loved the ocean. We had once promised each other that when his father returned and I no longer had to work myself to exhaustion, we would come here often.

The next morning, my phone lit up with dozens of missed calls and messages from Joe.

I didn't answer. I didn't read them.

Instead, I went to the small shop where I had worked part-time and resigned from every job, one by one. Without realizing it, I had visited over ten places.

Once all the resignations were done, I took my son's ashes and rode the bus back to our rental.

He didn't belong here. I had to lay him to rest in our hometown.

When I got home, Joe sat alone on a stool, the air around him heavy. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night.

I had imagined countless times what it would feel like to see him again. Would I be excited? Overwhelmed? Would I throw myself into his arms and cry?

But now, there were no such emotions. Only hatred. My heart felt like still water.

He, however, was different. He turned and glared at me.

"Where did you go? Why was your phone off? Why didn't you come home all night? Why didn't you answer me?"

His questions carried the sting of grievance, of complaint.

I glanced at him. He was deliberately dressed poorly. But no shabby shirt could erase the years of wealth, the air of nobility that clung to him. In this broken rental, he looked out of place. Next to me—a woman whose face bore the marks of hardship—we were worlds apart.

I didn't want to get entangled. I muttered that I was working a night shift.

But as I turned, he rushed forward and pressed me against the wall. His eyes were red at the corners.

"Sandra! After all these years, you don't miss me? Is this how you greet me?"

I buried my face deep, refusing to let him see my tears.

He continued, "But I've missed you so much!"

The words pierced my chest like a sword. Tears finally fell, uncontrolled, like pearls spilling from a broken string.

Missed me? And for that, you could trick me like a fool, disappear for five years, watch my son and me suffer without lifting a finger?

I laughed bitterly. Perhaps his words were just another tease, treating me like a fool.

I lowered my head and pushed him away.

"I'm tired. I want to sleep."

He watched my retreating back, one hand on his hip, an unexplainable irritation stirring in him.

When I woke, it was evening. I stared blankly out the window. How many years had passed since I could lie down without worry? I couldn't remember. All I knew was that for as long as I could recall, waking up meant going straight to work, never allowing myself a single pause.

The old door suddenly swung open.

Joe handed me a dress.

"Sandra, put this on. We'll pick up our son and go eat together."

Pick up our son? From where?

Before I could respond, he pressed on, urging me without pause.

I stared at myself in the mirror, clad in the dress, and felt dazed for a long moment.

I had once been a girl who loved beauty, who loved wearing pretty dresses. But ever since I had to earn money to ransom Joe, I had never worn one again.

Years of relentless labor had roughened my skin, leaving it dark and coarse. This dress felt stolen—my tanned, worn skin could never do it justice. I shook my head with a bitter laugh, about to change back into my work clothes.

But then Joe suddenly burst in, grabbed my hand, and pulled me along.

He brought me to the nursery my son had attended at age three. He glanced at his watch, impatience flickering in his eyes.

"So late… why hasn't he come out yet? I'll have to teach him a lesson someday for being so slow."

I turned toward the door.

"This nursery was too expensive. He transferred schools at four."

A shadow of guilt crossed his face. He held my hand tightly.

"Sandra, you've suffered all these years. Now that I'm back, I'll give you and our son a better life. Where is he now? Let's go get him."

I drew a deep breath and pressed the tears down.

"He's too far away… we can't bring him back."

He didn't question me, merely nodded with understanding.

"Good. Without that brat around, we can enjoy some time for ourselves. We'll make it up to him later."

He led me to a high-end restaurant. Before entering, he even explained that he had secretly saved some money over the years to afford this. I forced a stiff smile. There was no need for him to plan and scheme just to fool me.

We had barely sat down when someone I hadn't seen in years appeared in my line of sight: Sofia.

"Sandra? What a coincidence!"

She slid into the seat beside me with an ease that made it clear she felt no boundaries. Across from us, Joe stiffened, awkwardly greeting her.

"Hello, Sofia."

"Joe, go to the front and order us some drinks. We haven't seen each other in years; we have so many secrets to share."

Her voice was soft, almost coquettish, the tone one reserved for a lover.

Joe cleared his throat and rose, leaving her side. Sofia's gentle gaze vanished, replaced by full-on provocation.

"Years apart, and look at you… yellow-faced and haggard? Unlike me, widowed, yes, but I found a husband who loves me even more."

I clenched my fists in silence.

She appraised me from head to toe, her eyes dripping with contempt.

"This dress looks familiar… isn't it the one my husband and I… got messy together and tossed out? Don't tell me you're so poor you'd wear my discarded clothes?"

My face betrayed no emotion, but inside, a storm of bitterness and sorrow raged. Was I truly so cheap in Joe's eyes that even the dress he gave me had belonged to her?

Suddenly, Sofia leaned close, her breath whispering against my ear, "Sandra, everything you once had… now belongs to me. You'll never be able to beat me."

I didn't resist. I knew she was right—I had always been on the losing side.

But in the next second, her nails dug viciously into my thigh. I struggled to push her away, but she pressed harder.

"I want you to remember… what doesn't belong to you will never belong to you!"

Sofia collapsed to the floor with a dark, victorious smile. At the same time, a burning slap landed across my face—Joe had rushed over in a blur.

Even a small scratch on her arm was enough to make Joe lose all sense. Sofia nestled against him, feigning hurt.

"I only complimented you for being thoughtful… and then… Sandra misunderstood me."

Joe spun toward me, his voice cutting, furious.

"Sandra! After all these years, you're still so childish! Sofia's life has been hard enough, and yet you always pick on her! Five years apart, and you've learned nothing!"

At that moment, it felt as if the air itself had frozen. Even when Joe's older brother was alive, he had always favored Sofia.

Whenever Sofia cried, Joe never asked why—he would unload a storm of scolding on me, claiming he had to "teach me a lesson." Yet the next day, he would bring a gift and soothe me patiently.

A slap followed by a sweet gesture—this was his way, his habitual pattern.

For all those years, I had been trapped in his sweets, never able to see his true heart. Willingly, I endured suffering for him. Tears fell silently as I felt the futility of all those years.

I wiped the blood from the scratches on my thighs—she had drawn blood with her nails—and went to the hospital for a quick bandage.

When I returned to the rental, every door had been removed. People were moving in and out, tossing furniture into the street. I panicked and tried to stop them, but they ignored me entirely.

I recognized them—they were the very same people I had paid off to clear my debts. They were Joe's men.

As he had said, if I behaved, my son and I would be granted a better life. If I didn't… this was the punishment. To vent his anger over Sofia, he destroyed my home, leaving me with nowhere to go.

I rushed inside, desperate to protect my son's belongings. But my heart sank. The crafts we had made together as a family—every little piece—were shattered and strewn across the floor.

I screamed, tears streaming uncontrollably. Just as I bent down to pick up the pieces, someone grabbed my son's ashes.

My eyes went wide. I lunged forward to snatch them back—but a sharp kick sent me sprawling.

"Get lost! Blame yourself for crossing the boss's woman!"

My head struck the corner of a table. Blood poured down my face.

I forced myself upright and called Joe.

"Joe! Please… stop them! I promise, I won't go after Sofia again. Just make them stop, and I'll leave immediately!"

He froze, stunned that I had learned his identity before he expected.

Hearing my heart-wrenching cries, he realized he had gone too far. His heart softened, and he ordered his men to stand down.

When the crowd dispersed, I wiped my tears and ran through the wreckage, digging through shattered furniture to retrieve my son's ashes. My hands were cut and bleeding from shards of glass, but finally, I found the box.

Seeing it intact, I collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably.

When I finally ran out of strength, I crouched there, holding the ashes, stunned and empty.

Joe returned in a rush. Seeing me, he finally exhaled in relief. His eyes softened at my red, swollen face as he knelt patiently to console me.

"Sandra… everything I've done was to keep Sofia comfortable. I promised my brother I'd take care of her. I'll never leave you again. Let me take you and our son to a big house, okay?"

When he held my hand, he noticed it—bloodied, shredded from the shards. His eyes blazed with anger as he pointed at the ashes.

"Sandra… you hurt yourself just for this damn box?"

Despite his fury, he still ached for me. He scooped me up, ready to take me to the hospital.

But then his phone rang—Sofia.

"Joe… my wound… it might be infected…"

Hesitation flickered across his face. In the end, he set me down carefully, giving me instructions.

"Don't touch your wounds. I'll come get you. Then we'll pick up our son together and give him a surprise."

I watched him leave, shaking my head bitterly.

'Joe… I'm not waiting for you anymore.'

I took my documents, lifted my son's ashes, and headed to the train station. On the train back to my hometown, his messages flooded in.

Joe: [Sandra, where are you?]

Joe: [Why can't I find his info when registering him for the private plane I sent him? Is our son…?]

[Gone?]