She Got His Love, I Got His Chores

I ignored Grayson's text and went back to the bedroom to pack.

To better take care of Kathy, I had long since moved out of the main bedroom and into the study next to her room.

Looking around, there was barely anything in the room that actually belonged to me.

Boxes of adult diapers, packs of herbal supplements, and nursing pads—all for Kathy—were stacked everywhere. Grayson's paintings, classical poetry collections, and writing desk were all neatly arranged.

As for me, I had nothing more than a shabby wardrobe and a small vanity.

The clothes were all outdated in style, and the few skincare products I had left had expired without me noticing.

Looking at the woman in the mirror—only 30 years old, yet sallow-faced and gaunt—I felt a sudden stab of pain in my heart.

I had actually turned myself into this pathetic person for Grayson.

Thinking of Paul Fulton, my former professor and mentor, who had been so regretful when I resigned, I felt even more ashamed. For the first time in six years, I dialed his number.

It rang only once before it was picked up.

"Dahlia Prescott… You finally decided to call this old man, huh?"

I felt both ashamed and guilty.

"I'm sorry, Prof. Fulton. I let you down before, and I was just too embarrassed to reach out. But now, I'd like to—"

"I've told you before—you can come back anytime. I'll handle the paperwork for you right now. You can come back to work in three days."

"Thank you, Prof. Fulton."

After hanging up, my rough, calloused hands holding the phone wouldn't stop trembling. Tears spilled uncontrollably from my eyes.

Thank goodness, I could still turn back.

Holding on to the last bit of warmth in my heart, I made a list of Kathy's daily necessities.

But just as I was about to leave with my suitcase in hand, Grayson opened the door and walked in with his students.

The foul stench in the air made everyone instinctively cover their noses.

"What is that smell? It's awful."

"Is there a sewage truck outside? Did someone forget to close the windows?"

The moment Grayson saw Kathy's door wide open, he immediately understood what was happening, and his face first darkened, then flushed red. Striding into my room, he started scolding me in a low voice.

"Dahlia, didn't I tell you to get Mom cleaned up? How are we supposed to eat with that smell? Hurry up and change her."

I looked up at him, expressionless.

"Why should I?"

The irritation on his face froze. He stared at me—someone who usually didn't even dare to raise my voice—and asked in disbelief, "What did you just say?"

"I said, why should I? Let's get one thing straight. That's your mother, not mine."

"Dahlia Prescott, have you lost your mind—"

But before he could finish, I pulled out the fake marriage certificate and threw it onto the floor.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I looked straight at him.

"Yes, I must've lost my mind. That's why I happily married you back then. But today, I finally see you for who you really are. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other."

The old suitcase rattled loudly across the floor, completely different from six years ago, when I had entered this house full of hope.

Grayson was also no longer the happy, smiling young man who hugged me and said, "Welcome home". Now, he looked at me with resentment as he called out to stop me.

"I just didn't have the time to hold a wedding with you, that's all. Must you make a scene like this in front of my students?"