Chapter 2
The automatic glass doors of the terminal parted with a soft hiss, but Julian barely registered the cool night air hitting his face. His mind was a chaotic storm of disbelief, guilt, and a terrifying realization that his absence had become an invitation for cruelty. He abandoned his check-in counter line entirely, ignoring the gate agent calling out his flight number to Tokyo. He pulled his phone back to his ear, his thumb swiping frantically through his recent contacts to call his driver, Thomas.
"Thomas, listen to me carefully," Julian commanded, his voice trembling with an adrenaline-fueled rage that made the syllables sharp as glass. "Turn the car around right now. I don't care if you're halfway to the downtown garage. Get back to the estate immediately. Clara has locked my mother out in the rain."
On the other end of the line, Thomas gasped, the sound of the car’s engine roaring through the speaker as the sedan executed an illegal U-turn across the wet asphalt lanes. "Good God, Mr. Julian. I'm on my way. Hold on."
Julian tossed his rolling suitcase into the trunk of a waiting taxi parked illegally at the arrivals curb, shouting his home address with an intensity that brooked no argument. As the vehicle lurched forward into the slick, neon-lit traffic of the highway, Julian stared out the rain-streaked window. He replayed the past three years in his head—the subtle sighs Clara uttered whenever Martha entered the room, the passive-aggressive remarks disguised as domestic complaints, and his own foolish blindness. He had believed marriage required compromise, but he had compromised his own flesh and blood.
Back at the grand estate, the storm showed no signs of relenting. Martha remained huddled on the wet marble, her frail body shivering violently as the cold seeped into her bones. Her fingers brushed against her spilled handbag, her knuckles scraped and bleeding from the fall. Clara stood above her like an executioner, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She believed she had won. Without Julian here to mediate, the grand house belonged entirely to her, free of the old woman’s medical needs and old-fashioned morals.
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"Don't sit there playing the martyr," Clara snapped, kicking a stray bottle of heart medication down the steps. The plastic bottle clattered loudly against the stone, stopping near the edge of the dark lawn. "You've drained enough of our resources. Go die in a ditch for all I care."
Martha closed her eyes, tears mingling with the relentless rain. She didn't possess the strength to fight back. Her heart ached not just from the physical cold, but from the realization that her son had married a monster. Yet, deep inside her chest, a flicker of maternal endurance remained. She prayed simply for the strength to survive the night.
