Mrs. Fu

Victor proposed on a bright day with drifting clouds.

I had brought lunch to his office.

After eating, we squeezed onto the sofa and read comics.

Victor liked playing with my ring finger.

I had grown used to it.

This time, cool metal slid onto my hand.

A diamond ring.

Beautiful.

Huge.

Too huge.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “I designed it myself.”

“Yes,” I lied. “Mr. Fu has excellent taste.”

After marriage, I hid the ring because it was too flashy.

Victor thought I lost it and planned to design a bigger one.

My terrible family slowly disappeared from my life.

Victor protected me well.

My mother came to beg for money after she was released.

At first, she knelt.

Then she cursed.

“Your father and brothers are disabled now. Are you trying to force us to die?”

I controlled the family finances.

A little money from between my fingers could support them for life.

But I did not give it.

Whatever was left of family affection had been spent the day my father hung me from a building.

Some chains must be cut.

My depression improved.

Eventually, I no longer needed medication.

A year later, I became pregnant.

Victor was overseas on business and changed flights overnight to return.

He was happy for less than half a month before my morning sickness began.

I lost weight quickly.

Victor enrolled in cooking classes and made different meals every day.

Years later, our son entered kindergarten.

He often asked,

“Mommy, does Daddy not like me?”

I always explained patiently.

“When Mommy was pregnant with you, she suffered a lot. Daddy felt sorry for Mommy.”

Our son’s soft little face wrinkled.

Before he could cry, I showed him a video.

“Look. Daddy often goes into your room at night to cover you with a blanket.”

He cried harder.

“Mommy, he is not covering me!”

“What?”

“He threatens me! He says I can’t steal his wife or he’ll beat me every night!”

Victor’s voice came from the doorway.

“Fu Xiaotang!”

Our son jumped and ran on short legs.

“My name is Fu Jingtang!” he cried while running. “Daddy calls me Xiaotang because he likes girls more than boys!”

Half an hour later, I was on Victor’s back.

Our son followed behind, carrying two large bags of snacks.

He did not even like snacks.

Victor had agreed to buy him new clothes only because he “performed well.”

At home, father and son began competing again.

Our son fed me fruit.

Victor fed me chips.

“Mommy, when I grow up, I’ll build you the biggest closet in the world.”

“Wife, I’ll call a designer tomorrow. You’ve worn that dress twice. It should retire.”

“Mommy, my teacher praised me today.”

“Wife, the company broke performance records this year.”

When neither could win, Victor used his ultimate move.

“Your mother confessed to me first and didn’t give me a chance to answer. She almost missed me.”

Then he looked pitiful.

“Wife, that wound has not healed yet. Can you treat me tonight?”

Our son spat.

Fifteen meowed and jumped into my arms.

Father and son instantly formed an alliance.

“Mommy, Fifteen didn’t bathe. Dirty.”

“Wife, I’m better to hug than the cat.”

Sunlight filled the room.

Warm.

Bright.

Peaceful.

I sat there, surrounded by noise, love, and happiness.

For the first time, I did not feel like a rotting flower.

I was blooming.