His Tender Lies

Resisting the pain, I got up to cook her some food.

Perhaps it was the pain or the sheer exhaustion, I accidentally placed my hand on the casserole while the soup was boiling inside.

I yelped in pain, which prompted Francis to stare coldly at me.

"You know, you don't have to keep using the same method to get my attention," he said.

My palm was burning, and I wanted to hold out, but my body had reached its limit.

I was hit by a wave of nausea, causing me to throw up. The bitterness from the bile and the piercing smell of the stomach acid resulted in a rancid stench that filled the room.

Whitney, who was watching from the side, cried out immediately, "Ugh, that's disgusting! I've lost my appetite."

"Francis, why don't we eat out tonight?"

"Alright Whitney, anything you like."

The pair walked past the mess and left the house while completely ignoring me.

I glanced up at the clock. It was already 3 in the morning.

It turned out that Francis was able to stay up late. To take it further, he was willing to stay up late to bring a girl out for some supper.

What he gave her was unconditional love. For me, all I felt was an empty void.

No one cared about the soup or the empty home.

Everything that I so desperately sought to protect, what was it all for?

I dragged my body into the study, to the corner where random items were kept. There, I found our only photo covered in dust.

The couple in the photo was smiling so brightly.

I wondered if our love was ever mutual at one point.

Gradually, it became clear to me who the child was in the photo on Francis' bedside table.

It was Whitney when she was a little girl.

I let out a bitter laugh as the photo frame slipped out of my hand and smashed into the floor.

As the glass shattered, so did my heart.

Blisters started appearing on my palm due to the burn from earlier. As I looked at my scarred hands, I wondered if I should cry or laugh at myself.

'Scarlett, you've wasted so many years on this man.'

For the first time in so many years, I entered Francis's room without his permission.

I walked straight to his bedside table and pulled open the drawer that he warned me not to open.

In the deepest part of the drawer, I discovered a number of luxury car keys. There was also a business card with Francis' photo on it. Printed on his card was the title, "Director of Yves Group."

I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. So this was what Francis had been hiding from me.

The debts and financial losses he spoke of were nothing but lies.

My legs crumpled as I fell to the ground.

No wonder he insisted on hiring a secretary despite facing a financial crisis. No wonder he was able to afford business dinners every night while his working capital was running out.

Only I had taken him seriously and worked so hard to make money for him.

The thousands of dollars I scrounged up for him every month must've felt like pocket change to a boss who was worth over $100 million.

A cold laughter echoed through the empty house.

It must've felt humiliating for him to stay in this house that I bought with my blood, sweat and tears.

I sat on the floor in a daze until they returned.

Francis bought some takeout soup for me.

"It's pretty late, here have something light to eat."

Under the faint lighting, I observed the layer of grease on the surface of the soup.

Instead of accepting it, I calmly responded with a question.

"Aren't you still in debt?"

This seemed to catch him off guard.

"I'm almost done paying it off. Why bring this up so suddenly?"

For a moment, he displayed a nervous look instead of his usual cold and stoic expression.

He was about to explain before he was interrupted by Whitney's voice.

"Ms. Lane, why are there children's toys in your cabinet? Hold on, you gave me the same thing too, didn't you, Francis?"