Love Ends in Winter

: The Last Straw

The night I received the job offer to work abroad, Owen Galloway was in a private room, humiliating my mother.

"Even if you're selling your daughter, you should at least get a good price for her. Keep begging. Who knows, I might just marry her."

I was once Owen Galloway's goddess. He did all sorts of foolish things to win me over, even breaking things off with his childhood sweetheart.

During a flood, Sylvia Linton and I were trapped on a mountain.

He saved me, which left him with a disabled right leg. Sylvia Linton, whom he had abandoned, was disfigured.

I finally accepted him and began to take meticulous care of him, promising I would be with him forever.

But in just three years, his goddess became an old habit, and his childhood sweetheart became his lifeblood.

He had roared at me more than once, "Why didn't you push me away back then? Do you have any idea what kind of life Sylvia is living now?"

He got into fights for Sylvia Linton, skipped the birthday party I'd prepared for him, and stormed out on me when I had a fever.

He had promised to marry me in three years.

With one week left until that three-year mark, he had no idea I was already planning to leave.

1

"The company's transfer orders are in. Get ready to head to Veridia next week. It's for one year, with a possible extension."

After hanging up with my boss, I stood outside the private room. Hearing the rowdy laughter from within, I was just about to push the door open.

Suddenly, a mocking voice drifted out, freezing me in place.

"Even if you're selling your daughter, you should at least get a good price for her. Auntie, you keep begging. Who knows, I might just marry her."

My head was buzzing. I shoved the door open.

The stench of smoke and alcohol hit me in the face.

I waved a hand in front of my face before I could see my mom standing in the very center of the room.

The men and women surrounding her all wore jeering expressions.

Owen Galloway sat in the seat of honor, flanked by two scantily clad women.

He held a glass of wine, his eyes seemingly drunk yet as cold as ice.

When they saw me come in, the laughter stopped, and the atmosphere turned strange.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" My chest ached. "Let me take you home first."

"What's the rush? The lady wasn't finished talking," one of the women next to Owen Galloway said, covering her mouth as she laughed. "What was it she said? Begging Mr. Galloway to marry her daughter, as her mother?"

"I thought I'd time-traveled. Is this an arranged marriage?"

"Selling your daughter like a piece of merchandise... Hey, Auntie, how about this? Give me the $500,000. My gender won't be a problem."

The room erupted in laughter.

My grip on my mother's hand tightened. 'I shouldn't have let my mom end up in such a predicament. She shouldn't have to endure this humiliation for my sake.'

I shot a cold glare at the instigator.

The man hadn't said a word, just quietly sipping his wine.

"Owen Galloway, this is my mother! She's been nothing but good to you all these years!"

Owen Galloway seemed to chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. "All right, not everyone can take a joke. She's not like you all. She's a well-bred young lady from a good family, not our kind of people."

The crowd roared with laughter again.

"The well-bred young lady is still begging you to marry her. You've really got it made, Owen Galloway."

"Hey, Miss, look at me! I don't need $500,000. Give me $50,000, and we can get married tomorrow!"

And he just let them all make a joke out of me and my mother.

I felt as if my heart had been torn to shreds and stabbed back into my chest. The pain spread until a metallic, sweet taste rose in my throat.

I took a deep breath, knowing we couldn't stay any longer. I grabbed my mother's hand and was about to turn away.

The door to the room opened, and Sylvia Linton walked in, wearing a black overcoat.

Her face was lovely and her long hair draped over her shoulders, but a long scar ran across her right cheek, from the corner of her eye to her nose.

The moment she arrived, someone in the room wolf-whistled.

Sylvia Linton glanced at me, then walked straight to Owen Galloway. "Owen, you have a weak stomach. Drink less. Be good."

I had warned him countless times not to drink so much, but he always turned a deaf ear. Now, however, he obediently put down his glass, stumbled to his feet, and spoke in a gentle voice.

"What are you doing here? Is it snowing outside?"

He reached out and gently brushed the snowflakes from her shoulders. "You're not wearing enough. Don't catch a cold."

My nails dug into my skin. Just as tears were about to fall, I pulled my mother around and walked away.