Chapter 6

My daughter seemed to sense my confusion; sorrow filled her innocent eyes. The voice whispered, “I always heard you cry at night.” My fingers trembled uncontrollably. Even the person at my bedside remained unaware, yet my daughter, miles away, perceived it with crystal clarity. Mother and daughter—inseparable; she understood everything. But a sudden regret washed over me: why had I awakened so late to this?

My daughter raised a tissue, wiping away the tears streaming down my face. “Mom, don’t cry. Dad doesn’t like us, so let’s not have him anymore.” I laughed, composed myself, and took my daughter out for a celebratory meal. My phone vibrated incessantly; I glanced at it and switched it off.

After we had eaten our fill, we went to a movie. We didn’t arrive home until midnight. Opening the door, I found the room brightly lit. Joaquin stood there, his face haggard, his anger barely concealed. I met his gaze and laughed heartily, a familiar satisfaction washing over me. I had endured this countless times; Joaquin couldn't withstand even once. He pulled my arm, leading me into the bedroom.

“Is this how a mother behaves? Coming home so late, after I specially prepared a delicious meal for you both!”

I impatiently scratched my ear and repeated a phrase he’d used countless times: “Did I make you wait? Did I make you cook?”

Joaquin stared incredulously, frustration etched on his face, tears welling in his eyes. “Are you even speaking human language? Must you degrade me, trample on my sincerity?” I sneered at him.