After Hitting the Jackpot

I'm having a mental breakdown as I face a clogged drain with my feverish and fussing daughter in my arms. Meanwhile, my husband has reserved a hotel to celebrate another woman's birthday.

My mother-in-law spits on the floor. "This is what you deserve. You can't even capture a man's heart!"

I clench a fist around the winning lottery ticket in my pocket. I want to get a divorce.

Last night, my daughter, Primily Campbell, suddenly spiked a high fever.

It was pouring rain in the city, and I couldn't get a cab after half an hour of trying.

My mother-in-law, Betty Miller, refused to get out of bed, and when I called my husband, Edwin Campbell, he hung up immediately.

After what felt like forever, he replied with a simple text message, "Busy."

However, his lie was exposed by Diana Howard's Instagram post, which flaunted her happiness.

Her photos displayed the lavishly decorated backdrop, a six-tiered cake tower, and the luxurious ambiance of her birthday party.

Amidst the envious and congratulatory gazes of the crowd, Diana wore a crystal tiara and was smiling blissfully like a princess.

Her caption read, "Thank you, Mr. Campbell, for this lovely surprise. I wish to spend my days with someone special."

One photo showed Diana and Edwin cutting the cake together, looking every bit like a loving couple.

In the five years of our marriage, I had never seen Edwin smile so tenderly.

Just two weeks ago, on my birthday, Primily had clung to Edwin and pleaded, "Daddy, let's celebrate Mommy's birthday together!"

Edwin had merely patted her head and said, "Mommy's a grown-up; she doesn't celebrate birthdays."

While I was soaked from the rain and rushing up and down the hospital halls with a sick, feverish Primily in my arms, my husband was celebrating another woman's birthday.

By the time we got home from the hospital after Primily's IV treatment, it was already noon. Her throat was inflamed, and she clung to me in pain, refusing to get down.

Starving, I headed to the kitchen, hoping to grab a bite. However, I found the sink clogged with dirty dishes Betty had left soaking.

The leftovers in the sink had blocked the drain, and the stagnant water gave off a nauseating stench.

I immediately lost my appetite.

"The drain's clogged," said Betty, who was lounging on the couch and snacking. She ordered, "Go fix it."

Primily's throat hurt, and she started crying again.

No amount of soothing worked, and I felt utterly exhausted.

"Call maintenance and have them take care of it," I replied.

Betty's eyebrows shot up as she cranked up the TV volume.

"Do you know how much that will cost? Edwin works hard to earn money, and you're out here spending it like water! You don't care about him, but I do!"

I couldn't hold it in anymore and cut her off. "You're upset about me spending 100 bucks to fix the drain, but last night, your son spent a fortune celebrating another woman's birthday."

Betty froze for a moment. I threw my phone at her to show her the photos. She clumsily zoomed in and out, scrutinizing Diana's perfectly made-up face.

After a few seconds, she tossed the phone aside and said dismissively, "What's the big deal? I've told you before that you should focus on taking care of your husband.

"Instead, you spend all your time doting on Primily! Even if it's true, you've only got yourself to blame if you can't even keep your man."

I was shaking with anger.

Perhaps sensing my emotions, Primily stopped crying. She wrapped her hands around my neck and pressed her body against me.

"Mommy, don't be mad at me," she croaked in a raspy voice. "It's my fault. I won't cry anymore…"

Growing up in such a toxic environment, Primily became highly attuned to emotions and had already developed a people-pleasing personality far too early for her age.

Despite her quiet obedience, Betty sneered. "All she does is whine. Get her down and go fix the sink. Why would you waste money on a doctor for a fever? Do you think money grows on trees?"

Betty didn't like me, and she didn't like Primily either.

When I was pregnant, Betty had been eager to find out the baby's gender. Once she learned it was a girl, she tried to convince me to terminate my pregnancy even though I was already six months along.

She had reasoned, "Girls get married off and become someone else's family. Raising one is pointless."

My refusal to comply only fueled her resentment.

Ever the dutiful son, Edwin had brushed it off by saying, "She's my mom. What do you want me to do?"

As I held my feverish daughter in one arm and stood in a kitchen that reeked of acrid smell, I stared at the empty snack packets piling up on the floor and then at the photos of Edwin and Diana.

I'd reached my breaking point. I clutched Primily tightly and stormed out the door.

Betty's shrill voice chased after me.

"Where do you think you're going? You have nowhere to run to, you orphan! My son will never look for you! You and that useless brat will come crawling back anyway!"

I held onto the winning lottery ticket in my pocket, determined to seize the chance to start over.