Too Late, You Let Her Go

2: 2

I got home worn out, my bag still hanging from my shoulder.

The first thing that reached my ears was Janet's laughter, bright as a little bell.

She was wearing my sexy pajamas, tucked into Paul's arms, scrolling through job listings on the iPad, thoroughly enjoying herself.

The neckline dipped so low that even from across the room I could see the faint curve of her.

Paul frowned when he heard me come in.

"You're back? Janet just couldn't decide what job to pick, so I'm helping her sort it out."

So it turned out sorting out a career plan could nearly end up in bed too.

I couldn't be bothered to waste my breath. I just nodded and went into the bathroom.

Even if the two of them crossed the line tonight, I wouldn't ask a single question about it.

Paul's eyes went wide. He clearly hadn't expected it.

That I would watch the two of them carry on so calmly, like some outsider who had nothing to do with any of it.

Janet's face crumpled at once, and she looked up at Paul, eyes rimmed red, careful and timid.

"Paul, is Lavinia mad at me? I didn't mean to."

Paul pinched her cheek, his voice full of doting affection.

"She's just got a sour face, always has. It'd be weird if you noticed anything else. Ignore her. Let's keep picking your job."

Janet whined, unconvinced.

"I told you not to pinch my cheeks, they'll get all puffy!"

The two of them started 'wrestling' on the couch.

By the time I'd finished my shower, Janet had already worn herself out and passed out asleep in our bed.

Sprawled out without a care, more like the lady of the house than I was.

Paul lay beside her, patting her the way you'd soothe a child.

Humming a tune under his breath.

When he saw me come in, he shot me a hard glare and pointed at the mat in the living room.

"Go sleep out there. Don't disturb Janet."

I had no objection to that. But when I reached for a pillow, he slapped my hand away, hard.

"There's only one pillow. If you take it, what's Janet supposed to use?"

I sighed and gave up, resigning myself to the mat in the living room.

The air went eerily, deathly still.

I heard the man walk slowly over to me, and then his voice came, sudden and cold.

"You're just angry I didn't make you a plan, aren't you? Here."

The words landed, and so did the folder, slammed down hard against my head. Blood ran out in an instant.

I clutched the cut on my forehead against the sting and looked at the few flimsy sheets inside the folder.

Like some absurd mockery aimed straight at me.

I didn't dare put it off. I opened it, terrified Paul would call me sour-faced and ungrateful.

There was only a single line on it.

【*Education too low, ability too poor, unfit for any real responsibility. The best path forward is factory work.*】

A single line — and it nailed me to a pillar of shame, wiping out every ounce of effort and hard work of my four years in college.

It wasn't that Paul didn't know how many times I'd come in first, how many scholarships I'd won.

He just kept pretending he didn't, chipping away at my confidence, time after time.

When I happily told him my innovation-and-entrepreneurship team had placed, he scoffed and called it childish.

When I scored a perfect mark and ranked first overall, he'd insinuate that I must have pulled some strings.

Even when I got the spot to study abroad, all he could say was that giving it to me was a waste.

Back then I'd told myself he was all bark and no bite, that maybe deep down he actually thought I was amazing.

But watching him lay out a career plan for Janet down to the smallest detail, praising Janet, who'd been a terrible student, as clever, even introducing her to every connection he had around him.

That was when it finally hit me.

He had never loved me. He had never planned me into his future at all.

Paul watched me, taunting, as if he wanted my anger to give him a little jolt of pleasure.

But I didn't give it to him. I only nodded, flat.

"That's actually a good suggestion. I'll go see if there's a factory that'll take me."

With that, I turned over, lay down on the mat, and closed my eyes to sleep.

One bland, offhand line, and it landed like a bucket of cold water, dousing his expectations completely.

I heard the man grind his teeth in fury.

"Fine. You're born to slave away your whole life anyway. Days on the factory floor, and at night you come back and do my laundry and cooking. Perfect."

He spat it out, then spun around and slammed the door hard.

In the dark, I curled the corner of my mouth into a cold smile.

What he didn't know was that in a week I would be gone, gone from his world for good.