The Unqualified Mafia Wife

"Stella!"

My mother dashed toward Stella and threw her arms around her. Frigidly, she exclaimed, "That's enough, Winifred! You've lost your mind again, haven't you?"

"I haven't!" I screamed.

A resounding smack sounded, and my face was flung to the side.

My father pointed straight at me and roared, "If you're still going to be so immature, you'll destroy the Gardner family sooner or later. The mafia family is also going to end up being criticized by the public because of you!"

The ringing in my ears continued for a while as I listened to their discussion.

"Get the public relations department to bury the news tomorrow. For now, just say that she had an adverse drug reaction and that it's not a psychological issue."

"She went berserk during the day and made a fuss about signing the papers to donate her organs after death. And now, she's lashed out at her younger sister. She's gone out of control!"

I stood there like an outsider. It was as if they weren't talking about me at all. "She" was just trouble, a piece of humiliating news that had to be covered up.

I turned around silently and returned to my room without saying a word. Then, I picked up my luggage, which I had packed beforehand.

Stella was taken aback momentarily when she saw the luggage in my hand. She blurted, "Why is she carrying luggage?"

"What else could she be doing? She's just running away from home," my mother said in disdain, rolling her eyes.

"Save it, Winifred. You always run away from home whenever you make a mistake in order to garner sympathy. Well, that won't work!"

"That's exactly right!" my father echoed.

He shot me a glare, then grabbed a mug without any hesitation and flung it straight at me.

The mug hit me right on the head and shattered into pieces instantly. Fresh blood trickled down my forehead before dripping onto the floor.

I wiped the blood off my face and declared numbly, "I will never return."

My mother rolled her eyes and chided scornfully, "Then so be it! Who cares if you're not coming back? It works out just right. Our family won't have a daughter like you.

"Leave and never come back again!"

At that moment, I let out a laugh so soft that I barely made a sound. As it turned out, this "home" that I strived to protect all these years was never mine.

I headed for the door, pulling my luggage behind me.

"Winifred!"

Zachary ran out after me after recovering from his shock. "It's really late. Where are you gonna go?"

"It's none of your business," I said.

He remained quiet for a moment before pulling out a few banknotes from his pocket and stuffing them into my hands. "This is all the cash I have left on me. Spend a night away from home for now. Once you've calmed down, you can come back tomorrow and apologize."

I lifted my head to look at him. After all this time of knowing one another, this wasn't his first time telling me to apologize.

Before I could say anything, Stella ran outside. She snatched the cash out of my hands. In a voice so ear-piercingly gentle, she questioned, "Zach, why are you enabling her? If she runs away with the cash, won't she just feel even more like the victim?"

A flicker of emotion crossed Zachary's face. He looked at me briefly, his brows knitting together. "Stella is right."

As he said that, he took the money back and put it away.

"Winifred, we can't stop you if you truly wish to leave. If you get hungry, come back on your own accord. Don't put on this act any longer."

He turned around and went back indoors, closing the door heavily behind him.

I stood at the door, feeling the iciness in the air. Even the wind blew mockingly.

Fireworks lit up the night sky at the other end of the street. Colors of gold and silver interwove with one another.

That was Stella's coming-of-age celebration. And to me, it was my second last day of life.

I had a sudden realization that true death was never just the cessation of breath. Instead, it was a life where nobody believed you.

A ripping pain tore through my chest. I bent forward, barely able to catch my breath.

I coughed up a mouthful of blood, and I reached my shaky hand out to a wall for support.

The night breeze blew through my hair, the cold cutting like a knife. With all I had within me, I steadied myself.

I advanced, pulling my luggage along. I walked out of the wealthy residential area and booked a room at the budget motel with the money I saved up from working part-time in recent years.