Then came the sound of a beep—she hung up.
Despair washed over me.
No one can imagine how I endured the 1,300 kilometers, rushing back from out of town to be by my mother's side.
She struggled in the ICU for three whole days, but never got to see my dad.
On the other end of the phone, all I heard was the cold, mechanical voice. "The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later."
After I cremated my mother alone, I took her ashes home.
Sitting in the empty house, I stared at the social media post from my father's mistress' son, falling silent.
It was a picture of the three of them having a wonderful time at Disneyland.
My father, smiling so brightly, had his arms around the mistress and her child.
He had never taken me to Disneyland, yet here he was, eager to bring someone else's child.
Maybe in the past, I would have cried, but now, I felt at peace.
My mother was gone; what was there to be bitter about?
I let out a cold laugh and tossed my phone aside.
Now I was just curious—if they came back to find they had nothing left, would they still be able to smile?
My mother had already written her will, leaving all her property and savings to me.