She Called Me a Homewrecker,But Her Husband Is My Long-Lost Father
Chapter 1
All I did was wash my boss's mug.
His wife threw a cup of hot milk tea in my face.
She shoved me against the wall like a woman possessed：
“Have you looked in a mirror lately? You actually think you can seduce my husband?”
The milk tea scalded my hands, blisters rising across my skin.
I waved my hands frantically, denying everything, but she just kept screaming at me：
“No wonder your mother's rotting away in a hospital bed. I bet you're the one who made her sick, you shameless little bastard. I hope she drops dead and puts everyone out of their misery!”
I gripped the rag in my fist so hard my knuckles went white. The rage was seconds from swallowing me whole.
Then her eyes caught the silver ring peeking out from beneath my collar, and her face twisted into something ugly.
“You're even wearing a ring with my husband's initial on it! What more is there to say? You're nothing but a scheming little homewrecker!”
She ripped the ring from my neck and ground it under her heel.
That was when the boss walked in.
He didn't spare his wife a single glance. He walked straight to me.
Crouched down. Picked up the mangled ring.
His hands were shaking. His eyes were rimmed red.
And then he called me something I hadn't heard in twenty years.
——
That morning, a call from the hospital had yanked me out of sleep. A payment reminder.
The voice on the other end was clipped with impatience：
“You still owe five thousand dollars. If you don't pay up soon, we're cutting off your mother's dialysis.”
Mom was asleep beside me, her face pale as paper.
I touched her cheek and whispered back as fast as I could：
“I'll figure it out. I'll get the money.”
I threw on clothes, rushed through brushing my teeth, and headed to the coffee shop where I worked.
I wiped down the tables, but my mind was still running the numbers.
A hundred and twenty thousand dollars for the surgery.
At my current pay, even if I stopped eating and sleeping, it would take years to save that much.
The figure sat on my chest like a boulder, pressing the air out of my lungs.
I sucked in a breath and forced the tears back down.
Kids from poor families don't get the luxury of crying.
That was when the boss's wife, Jacqueline Lawrence, clicked in on her high heels.
She narrowed her eyes and swept the shop corner to corner, like a radar scanning for a target.
From my very first day on the job, she'd had it out for me.
Always finding something to pick apart.
I thought I might get through today unscathed. I was just starting to breathe again.
Then she stormed up to me, holding a mug in the air.
“Who told you to touch my husband's mug?”
I wrung the rag under the faucet, choosing my words carefully：
“There were tea stains on the inside. I was just giving it a quick wash.”
She grabbed another mug, this one still ringed with grime, and slammed it on the counter：
“These are a matching set. You washed his but not mine. You did that on purpose, didn't you?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't notice.”
I pressed my lips together, keeping my voice as small as I could.
“So you deliberately ignored mine. You just love making my life difficult, don't you!”
She snatched a freshly made boba milk tea off the counter and hurled it at me.
I threw my hands up to shield myself. The scalding liquid hit the back of my hand, and blisters swelled across the skin in an angry red cluster.
“Jacqueline, I just want to do my job……”
She wouldn't let me finish. She shoved me into the wall like a woman possessed：
“Have you looked in a mirror lately? You actually think you can seduce my husband?”
I shook my hands in front of me, trying desperately to explain, but she just kept screaming：
“No wonder your mother's rotting in a hospital bed. I bet you're the one who made her sick, you shameless little bastard!”
Rage hit my brain like a wall of fire.
“Say whatever you want about me. But don't you dare talk about my mother.”
Jacqueline stared at me, stunned for half a second, then her grin stretched wider and meaner：
“Oh, you're talking back now? Fine. I said what I said. In fact, I hope she drops dead sooner rather than later. Consider that milk tea her funeral offering!”
My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.
But in the end, I let go.
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