“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

In the kitchen, I leaned against the sink and turned the faucet on full blast to drown out the sound of my sobs, which finally broke free. I cried bitterly, calling out to my mother in my heart, “Mom, look at your daughter. It’s me, Sarah. Why did you leave so soon? I can’t take this, Mom.” The physical and mental exhaustion made me feel dizzy. But before I could calm down, Mark appeared at the kitchen door. He hadn’t come to apologize. He had come to order me to peel fruit because the guests wanted dessert. With hands trembling from crying, I wiped my tears harshly. I peeled the fruit.

Mark returned to the living room and shortly after the laughter resumed. The music was turned up. They seemed to have forgotten the earlier incident or simply didn’t care. They ate, drank, and joked over my pain. The clock struck 4:00 p.m. The sky outside was beginning to darken. With the faint hope of getting a shred of compassion from my husband, I brought the fruit tray to the living room and placed it on the table with my head bowed, trying to avoid Jessica’s triumphant gaze.

Suddenly, amidst the clamor of that suffocating party, the soft purr of a car engine was heard stopping right in front of the house’s fence. It wasn’t the sound of just any car, but the hum of a luxury vehicle’s engine. Several guests sitting near the window looked outside and instantly fell silent. They whispered with tense faces. Mark, who was holding a glass of iced tea and laughing loudly, also stopped abruptly when he saw who was getting out of that car. A sleek black sedan, the kind of car only owned by top executives of major corporations. A uniform chauffeur got out and politely opened the back door.

The festive atmosphere that had been chaotic just a moment ago was suddenly silenced as if someone had hit the mute button. One of Mark’s friends, bewildered, turned off the music. Everyone stood up with a clumsy and respectful attitude. Through the open front door walked a middle-aged man dressed in an impeccable suit, with an unmistakable aura of leadership. It was Mr. Harrison, the owner of the company where Mark worked, the highly respected president. Mark turned pale. He absolutely did not expect his top boss to come to his humble home. Besides, he hadn’t invited him because he didn’t consider himself at that level. Mr. Harrison entered with an impassive expression.