I thought once I started working, if I just sent them more money, their eyes would finally land on me again.
A million dollars later, I didn't even get a smile.
That's when I learned some things can't be bought.
Vivian and I fell in love around the same time. Got our hearts broken by scumbags around the same time.
I got divorced. She had a breakup.
Dad and Mom rushed off to comfort her without a second thought.
And me? All I got was:
"All you do is bury yourself in work. Why would anyone stay married to you? No wonder he left."
"Well, now it's done. Family's broken. You can keep working. Go on—no one's stopping you."
My son's crying pulled me back to reality.
One hand holding him, one hand gripping the utility card, I used every ounce of strength I had left to get the lights back on and the water running.
After mixing his formula, he fell asleep fast.
I changed his diaper in a blur, washed the bottle.
Dead tired.
When I finally opened my phone to unwind, I saw Vivian had posted another video.
In it, Mom helped her rock the baby to sleep.
Vivian sat on the balcony soaking in sunlight, her cheeks still carrying that girlish sweetness—so much collagen it practically spilled off the screen.