Repaying the Favor

I started a relationship with Eric Vance out of gratitude for an old kindness.

It took three years for this possessive and obsessive man to truly accept me.

At twenty, Eric and I registered our marriage, then I accidentally became pregnant and gave birth to little James.

Until James was seven, I never got a wedding.

Eric was always insecure, constantly testing my boundaries, repeatedly seeking reassurance that I truly loved him.

And James, following his father's lead, never learned to respect me.

Then, one day, my mother passed away.

I handled the cremation alone, dragging my exhausted body home.

Only to find myself locked out by James, who was oblivious to my grief and did it on purpose.

It was pouring rain outside. I took off my coat and draped it over the urn, pressing the doorbell again and again.

It was only late afternoon, but the sky had already turned completely dark.

Heavy storm clouds pressed down, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled intermittently, while the wind howled through the streets like the end of the world.

It mirrored the turmoil in my heart.

My ragged sobs were swallowed by the downpour. The sky wept with me, and tears drenched my entire body.

By the time I pressed the doorbell for the last time, I was practically gritting my teeth, my fists clenched as I pounded on the door.

Inside the small villa, the first floor was brightly lit. I could vaguely see a cheerful cartoon playing on the large screen in the living room.

Eric was away on a business trip in another city, but my biological son, James, was currently warm and dry inside the house.

He wasn't deaf.

He was doing it on purpose.

This kind of prank, changing the house code after I left, happened periodically.

It seemed my persistent ringing had annoyed him.

James pressed the intercom button, his voice irritated, "Who told you not to bring a spare key? So stupid! Figure it out yourself!"

His still-childish voice, distorted and unfamiliar through the speaker, cut through the surrounding noise.

I leaned against the wall, raising a hand to wipe away the rain and tears blurring my vision, trying my best to shield the urn in my arms.

I didn't want my mother to get wet.

I hadn't taken good care of her when she was alive. Now that she was gone, this was the only thing I could do for her.

I struggled to suppress the catch in my throat, speaking in a cold voice to James, "I'm going to say this one last time, James, open the door."

The intercom light flickered a few times, and a faint sound from the TV filtered through.

Then, James said nothing.

The small sliver of light before me winked out.

Silence fell over the world. I leaned against the wall, my eyes red-rimmed, my body stiff, as still as a statue in the storm.

Perhaps a long time passed, perhaps only a moment.

I calmly accepted the reality of having "lost" my son.

Then I smiled, blinked, and whispered to my mother, "It's okay, Mom, let's go. I'll take you home."

With that, I turned and walked away into the rain, resolute.

From today on, I had lost my mother.

And James had lost her too.

I took a taxi back to the South End, a district far from the Vance estate.

There were few grand skyscrapers here, mostly old, weathered apartment buildings.

But it brought me an unprecedented sense of ease and peace.

I climbed the narrow, dim stairwell. With each floor, a warm, motion-activated light above my head clicked on.

It was as if they were saying to me, "Long time no see, welcome home."

But reaching the fifth floor, standing before the familiar door, I felt my empty pockets and a new difficulty arose.

Rainwater dripped from my trousers, quickly forming a puddle at my feet. The cool draft in the hallway instantly raised goosebumps on my arms.

I didn't hesitate for long. I turned and knocked on my neighbor's door.

Soon, the door opened, revealing a young woman with messy hair, wearing pajamas, and a half-eaten apple in her mouth.

She looked at me, I looked at her, and we both froze.

I had expected Mrs. Martha to open the door, not

I slowly blinked, letting the raindrops fall from my eyelashes, then offered her a polite, flawless smile.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you. I remember my mom left a spare house key at your place. Would you mind getting it for me?"

Aubrey, my best friend from years ago, took the apple out of her mouth, her eyes complex as she took in my disheveled appearance.

Then she said coolly and distantly, "Wait a moment."

She went back inside, found the key, and handed it to me.

I took it, muttering a quiet thank you.

What remained was silence.

Now, I simply didn't have the energy to deal with the fractured relationship we had.

Forcing another smile, I took the key, opened the door, and went home.

I flipped on the light. The sudden brightness stung my weary eyes, causing fresh tears to well up.

The apartment was clean and tidy, spotless, every item arranged exactly as I remembered.

It was as if Mom had just stepped out for groceries and would be back soon.

I carefully placed Mom's urn on the table. My fingers accidentally brushed against a thin layer of dust on the surface, and I froze, my tears instantly flowing uncontrollably.

I helped her escape a failed marriage, freeing her from that cheating, abusive jerk.

I told her Id buy her a big house, that Id give her a good life.

But she always refused.

She said she was perfectly fine now, that her daughter was married, and if she worried too much about her old home, she feared I would suffer at my husband's family.

The money I gave her over the years, she saved almost untouched.

It became a small passbook, which, along with her ashes, was one of the few belongings she left me.

After her divorce, Mom's favorite thing to do was look through photo albums of James and me.

Her rough hands left countless traces of longing on the pictures.

But when I brought her to stay at the Vance house for a few days so she could see her grandson more often, she would invariably leave after just one meal.

Because Eric didn't like outsiders in his home, treating her politely but coldly.

And James, no matter how much I scolded him, always displayed his disdain and annoyance towards his grandmother.

I thought I still had time to change all of this.

Who knew Mom had cancer, but kept it hidden from me.

By the time I found out and took her to the hospital, it was too late.

I sat in the chair, weeping silently, consumed by guilt and remorse.

Suddenly, a knock on the door.

I assumed it was James, with a driver, coming to find me, and my brow furrowed, a surge of anger propelling me to open the door.

Instead, outside stood Aubrey, holding a bowl of ginger tea, and a plump little boy of about four or five.

Seeing my stunned expression, Aubrey sighed.

She led the chubby child inside my apartment without ceremony, saying, "Soaked to the bone and you're not going to shower and change? Want to catch a cold and fever?"

I still had many old clothes at home, all washed, dried, and neatly put away in the closet by Mom.

After showering, I emerged from the bathroom, eyes red, feeling a little lost as I surveyed the scene before me.

The TV was on, the little boy sat quietly on the sofa watching it, while Aubrey efficiently wiped down surfaces.

Seeing me, the child immediately sweetly called out, "Hello, Godmother!"

I gripped the towel I was using to dry my hair, staring blankly at Aubrey.

She, in turn, handed me a freshly made bowl of porridge, gestured with her chin for me to eat, then calmly introduced, "This is my son, Bruce, he's five."

I nearly spat out my porridge, my eyes wide. "You got married?"

It wasn't that I was overreacting, but from our school days, Aubrey had been a staunch anti-marriage advocate. She'd even planned countless times for us to open a retirement home together when we were old.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "Who says you have to get married to have kids? Cassie, you're out of touch with the times."

She explained that Bruce was conceived with her handsomest ex-boyfriend. Though they didn't last long, they had an amicable breakup.

The father knew about the child, occasionally sent child support, and was good to Bruce.

However, he got married last year, and to avoid complications, Aubrey cut ties with him.

I looked at Bruce with a hint of worry, "So he"

After so many years of friendship, our unspoken understanding remained. Aubrey knew exactly what I meant without me finishing.

She casually waved her hand, and Bruce immediately jumped off the sofa, huffing and puffing as he ran over, looking up at his mom with bright, dog-like eyes.

Aubrey smiled, pinching his chubby cheek. "He's easygoing, like me. Doesn't care who his dad is at all."

Aubrey patted the back of his head, and he immediately turned to me, wrapping his short arms around my leg.

In a sweet, childlike voice, he said, "Godmother, you're so pretty. Will you be my mommy too, please?"

That word, "mommy," made me feel a little disoriented.

James was a little tyrant at home, his behavior growing more erratic over the years.

He always played tricks on me, hurting me with a child's purest malice, delighted to see my anger.

And at some point, he started calling me by my full name.

It had been a very long time since he'd called me "mommy."

I swallowed the bitterness in my heart, feeling a surge of joy at Bruce's "mommy."

I crouched down, pinching his cheek, and smiled, "Before you were even born, I already claimed the title of your godmother. So, of course, I can."

Bruce cheered, his chubby hands wrapping around my neck, cuddling up to me affectionately.

Just like a fluffy golden retriever puppy.

Much cuter than James.

From above, Aubrey's sarcastic voice drifted down, "I thought someone had forgotten all about our promises."

How could I?

You're my best friend in this life.

If Eric hadn't so forcefully confined me to the house after we married, keeping me from contacting anyone for so long,

We never would have drifted apart.

Speak of the devil.

My phone suddenly rang. The caller, none other than Eric.

"Where are you?"

As soon as I answered, his familiar, lazy, slightly displeased voice came through.

Aubrey directed Bruce to lower the TV volume, then stood with arms crossed, glaring at me with a sour face.

Bruce glanced at his mom, then crossed his own little arms, blinking his big eyes at me.

The pair, big and small, looked like they were cut from the same cloth, making me unconsciously curve my lips into a small smile.

When I didn't reply, Eric was silent for a moment.

Then his tone softened, a coaxing note in his voice, "James can't sleep. He wants you to read him a bedtime story. Cassie, don't be mad at the boy."

Always the same. Every time James and I clashed, he'd only say that one thing.

Don't be mad at the boy.

As if no matter what James did wrong, what he did to me, I shouldn't hold it against him.

Because James idolized him, those hurts, like countless needles broken off in clothing, wouldn't pierce Eric.

So he thought it was nothing, just childish antics, a child's mischief, something adults shouldn't bother with.

I let out a soft sigh, feeling weary.

And truthfully, I didn't want to bother anymore.

I calmly asked him, "When are you coming back?"

On the other end of the line, Eric chuckled, as if pleased, "I knew you'd ask that."

Just before he left on his business trip, his restless secretary sent me a photo.

In the picture, the petite secretary was practically falling into Eric's tall, slender frame, her hand clutching his loosened tie.

Eric's arms were braced against the office desk behind him, his dark lashes lowered, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips.

Though nothing was explicit, the intimate pose and atmosphere clearly suggested something was amiss.

I was already agitated at the time due to my mother's worsening condition.

Seeing that photo, I instantly erupted, having a massive fight with him.

Of course, it was a one-sided argument from my end. Eric calmly smiled, watching me fume and get upset over him.

Each time, he would wait until I was genuinely heartbroken and angry before deigning to speak.

His explanation this time was that his secretary had just accidentally stumbled into his arms while tying his tie, and he hadn't even touched her.

I had pressed him, demanding why he insisted on having someone else tie his tie. Even if he hadn't touched her, he hadn't immediately pushed her away, had he?

As a married man, did he have no sense of propriety?

Eric tried to appease me with a few words, but this time I refused to back down.

He then immediately turned cold, saying I needed to cool off.

So he abandoned me, went back to the office, and left on his business trip the next day.

The ironic part was that even the news of his trip was conveyed to me by that same secretary.

We had been in a cold war ever since.

Before, it never lasted more than three days, and I was always the one to initiate a truce. This time, Eric was still waiting for me to back down first.

But seven or eight days had passed, and Eric hadn't received my call.

When James happened to complain to him, he took the opportunity to call me, offering me an olive branch.

After his light chuckle, he indeed asked, "Learned your lesson?"

He expected me to apologize, admit my fault, and then gently coax him.

Only after I had smoothed things over to his satisfaction would he choose to "forgive" me, and then, as a reward, tell me he'd be back tomorrow.

Ten years. He never tired of this trick.

But now, I was tired of it.

I was silent for a long time, long enough for Eric to sense something was off, and he tentatively called out, "Wife?"

I echoed his faint chuckle, my voice as level as if we were discussing the weather.

"Eric, come back soon. Let's get a divorce."

That night, Aubrey and I shared a bed for the first time in ages.

Bruce wanted to sleep between us but Aubrey picked him up and moved him to the wall side.

He fussed at first, flailing his little arms and legs, but in less than a minute, he was snoring like a little pig.

Kids sure have good sleep quality.

I lay flat, staring at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes.

Aubrey turned over, her arm resting on me, gently patting.

My tears immediately welled up. I turned to her, my voice catching, "Mom she"

Aubrey had seen Mom's urn. She knew everything.

After a moment of silence, she hugged me, patting my back gently, offering no other words of comfort, just one phrase that had woven through our twenty-plus years of friendship:

"Honey, I'm here."

That night, like driftwood lost and adrift in the deep sea, having left the harbor of my mother's embrace, I found a moment of respite and life on the small boat of friendship.

No love, and no longer a need for it.

With Aubrey and Bruce's companionship, I managed to pull myself together and began preparing for Mom's funeral.

However, a day later, Eric arrived with James, blocking my doorway.

He was tall and slender, dressed in a sharp, expensive silver-grey suit, his hair meticulously styled, accentuating his already handsome features.

He held a delicate bouquet of pale pink phalaenopsis orchids, softening his cold, distant aura somewhat.

As if nothing had happened, he wore a faint smile and said, "Cassie, I've come to take you home."

He knew I was a major sucker for good looks, otherwise, I wouldn't have subjected myself to him for so long.

Whenever he pushed me too far and I wanted to lash out, seeing his handsome face, let alone slapping him, my anger would instantly dissipate by a good third.

This time, however, I was unmoved.

I calmly told him, "I've drafted the divorce papers. They're in the bedroom drawer. Take a look. If everything's in order, we can go file them sometime."

The smile on Eric's lips vanished.

His gaze, heavy and dark, settled on me.

After finding no trace of jest or capriciousness on my face, he paused.

Then, he sidestepped the topic, bending down to nudge the impeccably dressed little boy forward, his voice cool and clear, "James, apologize to your mother."

James, clad in a designer tracksuit, hands in his pockets, put on a defiant, sullen look.

Hearing Eric's words, he awkwardly looked at the stairs instead of me, offering a perfunctory, impatient "Sorry."

Eric then smiled, looking up, though his eyes held little amusement, and asked me, "Is that enough?"

So, in their eyes, I used to be that easily fooled?

These two they practically thought I was an idiot.

My response was to slam the door shut right in front of them.

Eric seemed not to register what had happened.

After a while, my phone suddenly rang.

When I answered, it was Eric's angry voice, his temper tightly reined in, asking, "Cassie, do you really have to be so dramatic?"

Dramatic?

This was dramatic?

Then what were all of Eric's various tantrums before? Vile?

I retorted with a cold laugh, "You don't have to come looking for me, Eric. Right now, seeing you two, I just feel disgusted."

Eric's breath hitched abruptly.

I had never spoken such harsh words to him.

Not even when I was younger, following him around and crying my eyes out after he'd hurt me, had I shown such intense aversion and weariness towards him.

In his eyes, I was supposed to be the person who loved him most, who cared for him most in the world.

How could I bring myself to say such things to him?

Eric's ragged breathing betrayed a hint of panic, as if he feared hearing me say anything more to wound him.

He hastily hung up the phone.

I clutched my phone, sinking into the sofa, and let out a deep, shaky breath.

In truth, Eric and I were from two different worlds, never meant to cross paths.

Eric came from an illustrious family; his parents were business magnates. He grew up in luxury, handsome and charming, a golden boy cherished by everyone.

His only regret was that his parents were too busy, and he was primarily raised by his grandmother.

His grandmother, advanced in years, doted on her precious grandson immensely.

Sometimes, unable to control him, she'd let him run wild and mischievous, spoiling young Eric into an unruly and self-indulgent character.

Until little Eric was suddenly kidnapped.

The kidnappers were ruthless, not only demanding a hefty ransom but also harboring some disturbing proclivities.

Though Eric was eventually rescued unharmed, he suffered a complete mental breakdown, and his personality was irrevocably changed.

No one knew what he endured during his captivity.

After that, his parents remained busy, with only his grandmother, consumed by guilt, staying by his side, year after year.

Later, I was in a car accident. My family couldn't afford the treatment, and the person who hit me was even poorer than us.

I was facing a slow death in my hospital bed when Eric's grandmother intervened and saved me.

By then, she was very old, sitting in a wheelchair, leaning on a cane, her face etched with weariness, but her eyes still held a sharp intelligence.

She investigated my family background and spent a few days getting to know me.

Then she asked if I would make a deal with her.

She said she had saved me, and in return, she hoped I would save her grandson.

Her grandson, Eric, was still very young, handsome and intelligent, yet he was gloomy, reclusive, full of sharp edges, unable to integrate into society.

She didn't want to watch Eric drift through life aimlessly, or succumb to self-destruction.

But she didn't have much time left.

I didn't know how to repay a life-saving kindness; it felt like no one left me any choice.

I could only agree.

That day was three days before I was supposed to start at the prestigious university I had finally gotten into.

I had already planned everything: I'd work part-time in college, find a good job after graduation, then help Mom divorce that jerk and give her a good life.

My future was bright, within reach.

But the reality was, Mom successfully divorced, and I never went to college.

I was sent to the Vance home, where I began to fully dedicate myself to Eric, warming him, healing him, letting him climb out of his abyss, built on my very bones.

By the day he finally dared to step out of his safe zone and embrace the sunlight.

My destiny was already bound to his.

Grandma passed away peacefully, without regrets.

But she never told me.

How much of this life-saving grace, and all the help big and small over the years, did I have to repay before it was considered settled?

Eric knew nothing of this.

He had become utterly dependent on me.

Even after three years by his side, he still harbored suspicions that I would suddenly vanish, leaving him.