I pushed open the door and saw Mom crouching in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor.

The water wrung from the rag was murky with dish soap foam, and her fingers were red from the cold. The cuffs of her sleeves still had stains from this morning's cooking.

"Mom, stop scrubbing. Is the fridge fixed yet?" I asked hoarsely.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Your dad said to hold on a little longer. Once business picks up, we'll get a new one."

I stared at her cracked fingernails, my heart clenching as if someone had it in a vise.

Last year, when Dad's rheumatism acted up, she grated fresh ginger and turmeric by hand for his poultice and ripped half her fingernail off doing it.

Yet Dad only said, "You women are just too delicate."

And Mom actually started to wonder if maybe she really was too delicate, like he said.

"How did the sales go?" Mom stood up, bracing her lower back. "Your dad coughed half the night. I need to scrape together the money f—"

"Why don't you take a look at this first?" I interrupted her and handed over my phone.

She took it with a confused look and began scrolling.

Carla's Instagram posts unfolded before her eyes one by one—Dad leaning against the car door while smiling, Dad wearing an apron and cooking seafood.

The one that stung the most was the latest.

"My boyfriend said the bracelet was too plain for my new dress."

The photo showed a Van Cleef and Arpels counter, with a salesperson packaging a matching necklace.

"I've already checked the prices. The cheapest one costs 11 thousand dollars," I said coldly from the side.

"T-This is?" Mom's fingers were trembling.

"This is the client who came to see the apartment today. And guess what? The person buying it for her is Dad," I explained to Mom while watching her reaction closely.

"Dad complains about being broke to us every day. But in reality, he's been spending all his money on someone else. He said he was meeting with a client yesterday, but he was actually picking out a necklace for her."

Mom staggered and grabbed the kitchen counter, nearly falling to the ground.

"No, that's impossible," she said, her lips quivering. "Your dad said money was tight lately. He even held back on my medical insurance."

"Tight?" I pulled up screenshots of the bank statements and pointed at the transfer records he made to Carla. "In three months, he wired her 800 thousand dollars, with the memos all reading 'wellness investment.'"

Mom suddenly rushed into the bedroom and came back with a tin box stuffed with yellowed receipts for Dad's rheumatism therapy fees and health supplements.

On each one, her elegant handwriting noted, "Norman's health is the top priority."

In hindsight, it was the cruelest irony.

At the very bottom was a copy of Grandma's will.

"I bequeath the apartment to my daughter, Irma Bond, as a place for her to settle and call home."

Mom looked at the receipts, then at the will, and tears suddenly streamed down her face.

"H-How could he do this to me? It's bad enough he stole my money and my life, but now he wants to take away my last safety net?" She choked on her sobs as she stroked the will. "Before your grandma passed, she kept telling me this apartment is my safe haven."

I picked up one of the receipts.

Last week, Dad had taken five thousand dollars under the pretense of buying health supplements. Around the same time, Carla posted a photo of her new designer bag on Instagram.

"Mom, look closely." I held up my phone next to the receipt. "His so-called supplements are hanging on someone else's arm."

She suddenly grabbed my phone and started scrolling frantically.

Every one of Carla's bragging photos—Dad in an apron cooking seafood, Dad picking out jewelry, Dad with his arm around her test-driving a new car—felt like a slap in the face.

"When I was in the hospital for surgery last year…" Mom stared at Dad, who was smiling dotingly in the photos. "He said the hospital had bad reception. Turns out he was busy playing chef for someone else."

Tears splashed onto the screen.

Suddenly, she laughed.

"No wonder he always complained about my cooking." She grabbed the stack of receipts and hurled them against the wall. "How dare he use the money I nearly killed myself for to support some little slut?"

As the papers fluttered through the air, she slowly rose to her full height.

"Jody, I'm coming with you to sign that contract next week," she said, wiping away her tears.

The next day, I went to Dad's company under the pretext of delivering documents, hoping to gather more evidence. However, I was stopped at the door.

"Do you have an appointment?" the new receptionist asked without even looking up.

"I'm here for Norman Tuttle," I replied, waving the thermal container in my hand. "I'm bringing him lunch."

The receptionist let out a scornful laugh. Then, she shot me a glance and said mockingly, "Mrs. Tuttle just brought him lunch. In fact, she's still with him in the office right now.

"Young lady, for someone your age, you sure are manipulative. Trying to take the easy way out, are we?"

I was completely stunned.

Mrs. Tuttle? But Mom was at home.

Before I could react, the elevator dinged open. Carla stepped out carrying a Hermes bag, with several employees flocking around her calling her "Mrs. Tuttle".

When she saw me, she froze in her tracks.

"What are you doing here?" She looked me up and down, taking in my work clothes. "I told you I'm going to buy the apartment, and I will buy it! Showing up at the company won't change anything!"

The receptionist rushed to curry favor. "Mrs. Tuttle, she says she's here to bring Mr. Tuttle lunch."

Carla paused for a moment, then suddenly smiled as if something had dawned on her.

She lightly stroked her necklace and said smugly, "Jody, give it up. There's nothing Norman hates more than a clingy woman."

She stepped closer, her perfume wafting over me. "Not that you're even fit to shine his shoes."

Laughter rippled around us.

I gripped the thermal container tightly. "You've misunderstood. I'm—"

"You're what?" Carla cut me off. "Jealous that he's buying me an apartment? You're just some gold digger who found out Norman is rich and came running to steal him from me. Who do you think you're fooling?"

An employee chimed in obsequiously, "Everyone knows how much Mr. Tuttle dotes on his wife. Why, just last week, he rented out an entire restaurant for her birthday."

I stared at the diamond watch on Carla's wrist. It was identical to the counterfeit one Dad gave Mom last year.

"You hear that?" She flicked the name tag on my chest. "You could sell houses till you drop and still never afford one diamond off my watch."

Before I could respond, Carla suddenly snatched my phone.

"Let me see." She swiped open my photo gallery. "How many pictures of Norman have you secretly taken?"

I lunged and snatched it back. "Give that back!"

She stumbled back dramatically. "Security! This lunatic is about to get violent!"

A man in uniform pressed down on my shoulder.

Carla toyed with her car keys, the Porsche emblem glaringly bright.

"That's the tragedy of being poor. All you have left is fantasizing about another woman's husband," she said with a sigh. "

Outside the glass door, Dad's assistant walked by carrying documents and bowed to Carla.

"Mrs. Tuttle, Mr. Tuttle wants you to pick the color for your new car."

I was shoved and pushed out through the revolving door.

Under the scorching sun, I unlocked my phone.

Carla had just updated her Instagram.

"I was harassed by some little slut, so my boyfriend said he'll buy me an even more expensive car to calm my nerves."

The photo showed a chat log from Dad. "Oh, babe, I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'll take you to a Rolls-Royce dealership tomorrow."

Meanwhile, in the family group chat, Mom asked, "Norman, the fridge is completely broken. Can you transfer 500 dollars to get it repaired?"

Dad didn't reply at all.

The next second, a text message from Carla came through.

"The contract signing location has changed. It's now at Tuttle Corporation's mid-year conference. I want to give my boyfriend a surprise. I bet you're about to die with jealousy right now, you little slut.

"But it won't do you any good. I'll be receiving my gift under everyone's watchful eyes, while you can only stare longingly from the audience."

Instead of feeling angry at this message, I felt a flicker of excitement.

The stage was big enough, the audience was plenty, and the gift I'd prepared was huge.

On the day of Tuttle Corporation's mid-year conference, celebrities and socialites gathered. Even reporters from television stations arrived and started broadcasting live.

Dad stood at the podium, full of vigor and pride.

Dressing in a striking red dress, Carla clung close to him, her smile outshining even the crystal chandeliers overhead.

All these years, Dad never once brought me or Mom to any of his work events. His excuse was always that he didn't want to bother us with work matters.

At the time, Mom thought Dad was a rare gem of a man.

"Your dad never brings work stress home. I must've been blessed by the heavens to marry him," she had said.

Looking back now, it was nothing short of bitterly ironic.

The banquet officially began soon after. Under everyone's gaze, Dad stepped onto the stage and said, "Next, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank a very special person."

Dad's voice echoed through every corner of the banquet hall through the microphone.

The spotlight landed on Carla. She put on a perfectly-timed demure and bashful expression, but she was gripping Dad's arm tightly, as if staking her claim.

"She's the one who stayed by my side through my hardest times, giving me support and warmth."

With every word Dad spoke, the hatred in me grew.

The seed money for his business came from Mom working day and night washing dishes at a restaurant. She was left with arthritis as a consequence, which still hadn't healed to this day.

When his first business venture failed, he owed a mountain of debt. It was Mom who went door-to-door, kneeling and begging people to give them more time. Otherwise, Dad would have been taken to court.

During those hardest days, Mom even sold her own blood.

Time and again, Mom was the one who bailed him out.

In fact, just days ago, Mom was even considering selling the only inheritance left to her by Grandma to cover Dad's losses.

And yet, here he was, giving all the credit to Carla.

Dad continued speaking, his gaze tender as it met Carla's.

Applause and cheers broke out from the audience in support.

Carla basked in the spotlight. She tugged lightly at Dad's sleeve and whispered a few words, her eyes full of suggestion and anticipation.

Dad smiled knowingly and patted her hand. Then, he turned to the audience and said in a louder voice, "Therefore, I want to give her a very special birthday gift on this important day."

He paused deliberately, building up the suspense.

Carla held her breath, her eyes locked on Dad.

"I've bought her an apartment in the city center." Dad waved his hand grandly, his tone impassioned. "A property gift agreement has already been prepared.

"No matter which property she chooses, I will give it to her unconditionally. I hope this gift is worthy of everything she's sacrificed all these years."

"Wow!" The whole room erupted in exclamations and even more enthusiastic applause.

Overwhelmed with happiness, Carla clapped a hand over her mouth. Then, she threw her arms around Dad and said tearfully, "Oh, Norman! Thank you! I love you!"

Dad proudly hugged her back, reveling in the admiring glances thrown his way from the audience.

"Furthermore…" he pressed on, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a velvet box. Then, he got down on one knee in front of Carla.

"Carla, will you marry me?"

He opened the velvet box, revealing a massive diamond ring that refracted blinding rays of light under the chandeliers.

"Say yes! Say yes!"

The cheers and chants rose one after another, pushing the atmosphere to its peak.

Carla stretched out her hand, too overwhelmed to speak clearly. "Yes, Norman! Yes!"

Just as Dad was about to slip the ring onto her finger, a calm female voice sounded from the back of the banquet hall.

"Norman."

The spotlight swung toward the sound.

The heavy doors of the banquet hall had been pushed open at some point, and Mom and I stood there side by side.

Mom's back was ramrod straight, her eyes like knives aimed directly at the frozen couple on stage. She spoke slowly, each word landing heavily in the silent air.

"That wedding ring was bought with the money for my mom's burial. So, tell me, is it really appropriate for her to wear it?"