After Seven Years of Suffering, I Finally Broke Free

"No need," I said calmly. "Remember to dry clean these pajamas. If it’s not clean, just throw it away."

Emily’s face went pale, and the spoon in her hand clattered into the bowl.

Tears welled instantly, filling her eyes.

Frederick slammed the soup bowl on the table, spilling a few drops.

"Lydia, can you not be so sarcastic? It’s just a piece of clothing—does it have to be like this?" He frowned, impatience written all over his face.

"She didn’t bring any clothes. What’s wrong with borrowing one? You have so many in your closet—would it kill you to lose one?"

I looked at Frederick.

The veins on his neck stood out slightly, eyes full of accusation.

He truly believed I was being unreasonable, truly thought I was overreacting.

In his mind, generosity and tolerance were my duties; if I didn’t comply, something was wrong with me.

I nodded. "Fine, I’ll take her." I turned and went to the bedroom, pulling a large silver suitcase from the top shelf of the wardrobe.

I opened the wardrobe and began unpacking.

There wasn’t much to pack; I’ve always kept things simple.

A few sets of business attire, some design drawings, and my computer.

Frederick followed me in, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, sneering:

"Here we go again? Running away from home? Lydia, you’re thirty this year, not eighteen. Tricks like this get old fast."

Each word stabbed my heart.

He knew exactly how much I cared about age.

Frederick and I had a seven-year difference—once a sweet burden he praised as "older women are more caring," now a supposed proof of my unreasonable, immature behavior.

I ignored him, hands moving steadily.

Seeing I didn’t reply, Frederick stepped closer, tone softening, tinged with condescending helplessness:

"Alright, stop making a scene. Emily is just staying temporarily. If you keep forcing this, I’ll let her leave."

"You know how much I love you."

"I’m not making a scene, I’m just making space."

I reached for my suitcase.

I couldn’t move it.

He was holding on tightly.

"Make room for what?" Frederick frowned, puzzled.

"I already said Emily is only staying temporarily. Why do you have to be so aggressive? Weren’t you generous before? How come you’re worse with age?"

I gave up on the suitcase and looked at him.

"You said it yourself—I’m thirty.

A thirty-year-old doesn’t like squeezing in with others. Not in space, not in a relationship."

"What do you mean?! Who’s squeezing in with you? You know perfectly well you’re the only one in my heart!"

Frederick roared,

"You insist on this? Fine! I’ll make Emily leave! I’ll make you happy!"

He turned abruptly and stormed out.

Before he even reached the door, Emily burst in.

Her hair was a mess, eyes were swollen like walnuts.

"It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!" Her voice was shrill, piercing, full of heartbreaking sobs.

"If I hadn’t been so desperate to wear this instead of a nice outfit, you wouldn’t have argued… It’s all my fault!"

She screamed, tugging frantically at her pajamas.

The silk was slippery, and with her rough pull, the shoulder strap snapped with a sharp "pop."

The pajamas slid off her shoulders, bunched at her waist, and she yanked them down forcefully, throwing the garment onto the floor.

Frederick froze, his hand outstretched, hanging mid-air.

"Emily! What are you doing!"