“See? That’s better! Now everyone’s happy.”
I didn’t even look at him. I just took my mom’s arm. “Mom, let’s go back to the room and rest,” I said softly.
"What about the fireworks?" Liam asked, impatient.
“Watch them yourself.”
Without looking back, I led my mom straight toward the elevator. Behind us, I could still hear his mom grumbling under her breath, “Your wife… she’s good at ruining the mood.”
Back in the hotel room, my mom still looked uneasy. She kept turning the cheap comb over in her hands again and again.
“Anne,” she said quietly, “at least they gave me a gift. It’s nice. Don’t be mad at Liam over something like this.”
I looked at my mom, the woman who had endured everything all her life, always thinking of others, always swallowing her pain.
And for what?
For being abandoned on a highway. For getting this rough, splintered comb. For carrying endless hurt and humiliation.
“Mom.”
I took the comb from her hands and tossed it straight into the trash bin. “This cheap thing doesn’t deserve you. You deserve something much better.”
She glanced at the trash bin and sighed again. “But…”
“Let’s not talk about them anymore, Mom.”