: The Last Straw

The night I received the job offer to work abroad, Owen Galloway was in a private room, humiliating my mother.

"Even if you're selling your daughter, you should at least get a good price for her. Keep begging. Who knows, I might just marry her."

I was once Owen Galloway's goddess. He did all sorts of foolish things to win me over, even breaking things off with his childhood sweetheart.

During a flood, Sylvia Linton and I were trapped on a mountain.

He saved me, which left him with a disabled right leg. Sylvia Linton, whom he had abandoned, was disfigured.

I finally accepted him and began to take meticulous care of him, promising I would be with him forever.

But in just three years, his goddess became an old habit, and his childhood sweetheart became his lifeblood.

He had roared at me more than once, "Why didn't you push me away back then? Do you have any idea what kind of life Sylvia is living now?"

He got into fights for Sylvia Linton, skipped the birthday party I'd prepared for him, and stormed out on me when I had a fever.

He had promised to marry me in three years.

With one week left until that three-year mark, he had no idea I was already planning to leave.

1

"The company's transfer orders are in. Get ready to head to Veridia next week. It's for one year, with a possible extension."

After hanging up with my boss, I stood outside the private room. Hearing the rowdy laughter from within, I was just about to push the door open.

Suddenly, a mocking voice drifted out, freezing me in place.

"Even if you're selling your daughter, you should at least get a good price for her. Auntie, you keep begging. Who knows, I might just marry her."

My head was buzzing. I shoved the door open.

The stench of smoke and alcohol hit me in the face.

I waved a hand in front of my face before I could see my mom standing in the very center of the room.

The men and women surrounding her all wore jeering expressions.

Owen Galloway sat in the seat of honor, flanked by two scantily clad women.

He held a glass of wine, his eyes seemingly drunk yet as cold as ice.

When they saw me come in, the laughter stopped, and the atmosphere turned strange.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" My chest ached. "Let me take you home first."

"What's the rush? The lady wasn't finished talking," one of the women next to Owen Galloway said, covering her mouth as she laughed. "What was it she said? Begging Mr. Galloway to marry her daughter, as her mother?"

"I thought I'd time-traveled. Is this an arranged marriage?"

"Selling your daughter like a piece of merchandise... Hey, Auntie, how about this? Give me the $500,000. My gender won't be a problem."

The room erupted in laughter.

My grip on my mother's hand tightened. 'I shouldn't have let my mom end up in such a predicament. She shouldn't have to endure this humiliation for my sake.'

I shot a cold glare at the instigator.

The man hadn't said a word, just quietly sipping his wine.

"Owen Galloway, this is my mother! She's been nothing but good to you all these years!"

Owen Galloway seemed to chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. "All right, not everyone can take a joke. She's not like you all. She's a well-bred young lady from a good family, not our kind of people."

The crowd roared with laughter again.

"The well-bred young lady is still begging you to marry her. You've really got it made, Owen Galloway."

"Hey, Miss, look at me! I don't need $500,000. Give me $50,000, and we can get married tomorrow!"

And he just let them all make a joke out of me and my mother.

I felt as if my heart had been torn to shreds and stabbed back into my chest. The pain spread until a metallic, sweet taste rose in my throat.

I took a deep breath, knowing we couldn't stay any longer. I grabbed my mother's hand and was about to turn away.

The door to the room opened, and Sylvia Linton walked in, wearing a black overcoat.

Her face was lovely and her long hair draped over her shoulders, but a long scar ran across her right cheek, from the corner of her eye to her nose.

The moment she arrived, someone in the room wolf-whistled.

Sylvia Linton glanced at me, then walked straight to Owen Galloway. "Owen, you have a weak stomach. Drink less. Be good."

I had warned him countless times not to drink so much, but he always turned a deaf ear. Now, however, he obediently put down his glass, stumbled to his feet, and spoke in a gentle voice.

"What are you doing here? Is it snowing outside?"

He reached out and gently brushed the snowflakes from her shoulders. "You're not wearing enough. Don't catch a cold."

My nails dug into my skin. Just as tears were about to fall, I pulled my mother around and walked away.

: Stomachache

In the car, Mom looked a little guilty. "Claire, did I do something wrong?"

I suppressed the lump in my throat and shook my head. "No. But Mom, from now on, let me handle things with Owen myself."

Mom sighed, carefully studying my expression.

"How did Owen turn out like this? I remember back then, he was such a good kid. I've seen how unhappy you've been lately, so I just wanted to ask him what he was thinking."

As she spoke, she let out a long sigh. "But don't blame him, either. Owen is suffering, too. Back then, he was so full of life..."

Her words were cut off by my tears. I pulled the car over and, no longer able to hold it in, buried my head in the steering wheel and sobbed.

Actually, Owen was the one who pursued me first.

He fell in love with me at first sight during our freshman year. After digging up my information, he began a relentless pursuit. I rejected him time and again. The flowers he sent, the paper cranes he folded, the meals he got for me every day, all the little gifts he gave—I had every single one sent back.

But still, he wouldn't give up.

He won over my roommates, having them tell me things about him every day. It was through them that I slowly started to learn about the kind of person he was.

He was smart, a good student, and athletic—the captain of the school basketball team. He was also kindhearted. During the massive flood two years prior, he'd gone behind his parents' backs to help with disaster relief. At such a young age, he rescued more than a dozen trapped people. He was good at so many things, and yet he was incredibly innocent when it came to love. I was the first girl he had ever liked.

During the school basketball tournament, I was chosen as the cheerleading captain. After the game, he snatched the microphone from the emcee: "Claire Grant, I like you!"

The boy's voice seemed to reach the heavens, his eyes, glistening with sweat, were alarmingly bright.

From that day on, everyone knew I was His goddess.

For those four years, he did all sorts of foolish things for me, and even cried in front of me several times.

One time, he was just sitting dejectedly outside my dorm building with a basket of apples beside him.

When he saw me approaching, he first wiped the corner of his eye, then pressed his lips together. "I know someone gave you a Christmas apple. I don't know how big theirs was, but I ran all over the city to buy the biggest, reddest ones I could find."

I'll never forget the hopeful look in his eyes at that moment.

In our senior year, his childhood sweetheart, Sylvia Linton, found me and demanded to know why I was hurting Owen Galloway. For my sake, Owen broke things off with Sylvia Linton in front of the entire school.

My mom was right. He used to be a very, very good person, which makes the man he is today all the more pitiable and infuriating.

I dropped my mom off and then went home.

When I got downstairs, under the warm yellow glow of a streetlight, I saw Owen Galloway and Sylvia Linton walking intimately together.

Sylvia Linton's head was tilted up, her smile radiant, as she spoke affectionately to Owen Galloway. Owen smiled gently, occasionally reaching out to brush a falling snowflake from her shoulder.

The night was serene, the snow falling without a sound.

The scene looked so romantic.

I was suddenly reminded of a day a year ago when I accompanied him to his rehabilitation session.

The snow was heavy that day. I struggled to help him out of the car, then went back to grab the various bags from inside.

The evening sky was gorgeous. I looked up for just a few seconds, but in that brief moment of distraction, he had already walked far ahead of me.

I don't know when it started, but he went from chasing my every step to treating me like a stranger.

I didn't go over to confront them. Instead, I turned and went upstairs.

There wasn't much to pack. I hadn't bought many new clothes these past few years; all my energy had been focused on him.

The door opened with a CLICK.

Owen Galloway returned, bringing in a gust of cold air and the scent of perfume.

Seeing that I was packing, he simply took off his overcoat, threw himself onto the sofa, and said listlessly, "My stomach hurts."

In the past, I would have immediately rushed over to get him a hot water bottle, gone to the kitchen to brew some ginger tea, and finally, coaxed him into taking his stomach medicine.

But this time, I acted as if I hadn't heard him, simply focusing on packing my things.

He waited for a moment, then finally grew impatient.

"Claire Grant, I said my stomach hurts."

He stood, swaying. Without his corrective shoes, he walked with an unsteady gait.

He stood in front of me, watching as I laid out the files one by one.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Owen Galloway, you're not helpless. And I am not your maid."

Surprise and anger flashed in his eyes.

Out of love and guilt, I had always been accommodating and tolerant of him. 'When had I ever spoken to him in such a tone?'

He kicked my files, sending them scattering across the floor. His voice was strained. "That's right, I'm a cripple. You look down on me now too, don't you? But what can you do? Your mother still had to beg me to marry you!"

I slowly lifted my head, trying to see some semblance of his old self in that contorted face.

"Owen Galloway, does humiliating an old woman make you proud?"

He froze, and just as he seemed about to say something, his phone suddenly rang.

He answered it right in front of me.

It was Sylvia Linton. She said her stomach was hurting and was asking him what medicine she should take.

I found it laughable. 'As if he'd have any idea what she should take. Why would she even ask him?'

But as soon as he hung up, Owen immediately started searching on his phone. Then, he hurried to the first-aid kit and rummaged through it for some medicine.

As he was leaving, he also grabbed the back support pillow I'd left on the sofa, intending to take it with him.

I ran over and snatched it back.

I've had a bad back for a long time, and Owen knew it. He'd even made fun of me, saying the pillow was hideous.

Owen's brow furrowed. "Give it to me."

"She has a stomach ache, not a back ache. What do you need that for?"

"She's been working overtime lately, and her back has been bothering her."

I looked at his matter-of-fact expression, and it felt like a gaping hole had been torn in my chest, with cold wind whistling through.

I must have given him a hideous smile, because a flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes.

"What does that have to do with me? Am I supposed to buy her pads for her, too?"

The man's face darkened instantly.

"Claire Grant, her face was ruined because of you! A woman's face! You owe her a debt you can never repay in this lifetime, so what's the big deal about one back pillow?"

I froze, the world spinning around me.

Right before our college graduation, the school organized a class trip. But we were caught in a once-in-a-century flood.

Sylvia Linton, who had tagged along uninvited, and I were trapped together in a small cabin on the mountain.

Owen Galloway found us. Despite Sylvia Linton's pleas, he gave the chance of survival to me.

As a result, Sylvia Linton was disfigured, and Owen Galloway's right leg was crippled.

For all these years, guilt has been a crushing weight. I accepted his confession, gave him the best medical care and a life of comfort. I humbled myself completely, unconditionally accepting whatever moods he threw at me.

I even pretended not to notice when he got back in touch with Sylvia Linton, their connection lingering, their relationship ambiguous.

'But what did I get in return for my forbearance?'

"What gives you the right to blame me for everything?" I was finally furious.

Owen Galloway sneered, his laughter laced with hatred.

"Who else? You didn't just ruin her, you ruined me too!"

He kicked his shoe off, and the corrective insole inside tumbled out. "How much longer do I have to wear this ugly thing? When will I be able to walk like a normal person? How much more of this ridicule am I supposed to take?"

"Do you know how they laugh at me? They call me a kept cripple. Your trophy husband. A useless piece of trash who depends on you for everything!"

"I had so many dreams! I wanted to be a basketball player! I wanted to go teach in the mountains! I wanted to do extreme sports, become a race car driver! It's all ruined! You ruined my entire future!"

He loomed over me, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you know what I feel every time I see you? Disgust. I hate you so much I want to vomit. Claire Grant, what right did you have to ruin both me and Sylvia, while you got away without a scratch?!"

...