Chapter 3

5 years had passed without hearing from Suzan.

Kris told himself she must have died. Where would an orphan with no food go? She died of hunger, he thought. It made sleeping easier.

He stared at the empty spot where Suzan used to fold his shirts. For a second he felt guilt. Then he shook it off.

He wasn't happy though — Kris wanted a son, but Angela gave him a daughter.

And Angela wasn't soft like Suzan.

Suzan was calm, but Angela was fire. Angela could yell at Jude, her own mother-in-law, and Jude had to swallow it.

Jude felt anger choking her throat every day, but what could she do? Every decision has a price. The price of throwing Suzan out was living with Angela.

Angela was short-tempered. No one points a finger at her. She would do worse than you can imagine.

Jude didn't even like Angela's daughter, but she had to pretend to kiss her, carry her, and praise her. Because Angela's parents were rich. They came with gifts, with boxes, with money for Kris's failing business.

They didn't miss Suzan. Not one day. At least that's what they told themselves.

They didn't know that Kris's company, VIC, was failing. Market sales were about to reach zero. Debts were threatening to make him sell the mansion.

He didn't want Angela to know about this, so he didn't call for her help. He didn't want to be seen as a failure in Angela's family. Who knows what Angela could do? Last night she had threatened to kill someone for not giving her daughter a sweet breakfast before school.

Everyone was left shivering.

The mansion had become too quiet. Not the peaceful quiet that Suzan used to leave after she finished cleaning, but the heavy quiet of people who don't talk because they hate each other.

In the evenings, Angela sat in the living room with Maria, scrolling on her phone with full volume. Jude sat far away, in the corner, pretending to watch TV but her eyes were on Maria. Maria had Angela's temper already. At five years old, she had learned to scream to get what she wanted.

"Mama, I want juice!" she would yell, and if Jude was slow, she would throw the cup.

Jude would clean it without a word. Five years ago, she was the madam who ordered Suzan to wash the floor with her bare hands. Now she was the one on her knees, wiping Maria's juice from the tiles, while Angela watched and said, "You missed a spot."

Kris saw all of it but said nothing. He was losing himself too. At night, he sat on the balcony alone, with a bottle. He didn't drink before. Suzan never let him. She would take the bottle and say, "Think about tomorrow, Kris."

Angela never stopped him. She just said, "Don't be noisy."

He missed being told what to do. He missed being cared for.

Sometimes, when Angela was shouting downstairs, Kris would close his eyes and hear Suzan's soft voice instead. "Kris, your food is ready." That voice was gone. He had traded calm water for fire, and now the fire was burning his own house.

And still, he told himself Suzan was dead. Because if she was alive and happy somewhere else, it meant he was the fool, not her.

Suzan used to wake up early and do chores, but now it was Jude herself. At her age, she woke up and made an awful breakfast.

The kitchen smelled of burnt oil. Jude stood by the stove at 6 AM, her knees aching, the porridge sticking to the pot. "She put too much salt again," Angela's daughter Maria pushed the plate away.

Too much salt, no smell — and Angela would still yell at her.

Kris got an email on his laptop, the investors told him that they were going to withdraw their money from his failing company if he doesn't get the required market sales.

He pleaded with them to help him but it was too late.

As his mother was passing his room she heard him yelling, "Uh... why?"

His mother came into the room. For seconds, she sadly looked at her son before he noticed her.

She remembered how bad Angela treats them.

And if anything goes worse, the company is going to be poorer than the deceased orphan they chased.

Jude cried, her son frightened who hadn't seen her like that.

"Mom, what are you doing in my room?" Kris turned as he asked. "Why are you crying?"

His mother's cries grew louder, "Son, why does the earth have to betray us like this? We are now broke."

"Does Angela know about this?" she said, wiping her tears while shivering.

"No, she isn't supposed to know anything about this," Kris frowned.

The next day, he checked his laptop again at the office.

Kris's office used to smell like money. New leather, cold AC, coffee brought to his desk by Suzan before 7 AM without him asking.

Now it smelled like dust.

He opened his laptop. The dashboard for VIC was bleeding red. All red arrows pointing down.

Market Sales: 2.1%

Last Quarter: 18%

Debt Owed: $2,340,000

Bank Calls: 11 missed

He refreshed the page. Same numbers. He refreshed again, like the numbers would change if he stared hard enough.

His phone buzzed. It was the BANK.

He declined it. His hand was sweating on the mouse as he clicked his email.

Angela came in. "Why don't you answer the call, honey?"

Kris said while rubbing sweat with his wrinkled handkerchief, "It's nothing much."

Kris tried to hide the laptop and the phone.

"Is there anything you are hiding from me?" Angela's voice was loud and firm.

"It's... it's nothing," he stammered.

Angela tried to grab the laptop but Kris removed it.

"Honey, what are you hiding?" she yelled, slapping him.

Kris threw the laptop on the table while trying to soothe the temperature on his red cheek.

When Angela looked at the laptop screen, her face changed. Then she smiled — the kind of smile that comes before someone burns a house down.