Chapter 160
I unbuckled my seatbelt, turned to the side, reached out, and carefully lifted Milly from her car seat, placing her on my lap and holding her tightly in my arms.
"Milly, listen to Mommy." My voice caught a little, but I tried to keep it steady and firm, "You didn't do anything wrong. You're wonderful, you're excellent, you're Mommy's greatest pride."
"The ones who are wrong are us adults—Daddy, Mommy. We didn't handle our problems well, and that hurt you."
I cupped her tear-stained little face, gently wiping away her tears with my fingers, looking into her eyes, "Mommy doesn't want you to become a sad child. I don't want you to blame yourself or doubt yourself because of other people's mistakes."
"You deserve all the love, understand?"
"And, Mommy has told you many times," my heart ached numbly, but I had to repeat this cruel truth again, "the person your daddy loves now is Ms. Wilson, and Jack. He doesn't love Mommy anymore, and he doesn't love Milly anymore either."
"That's why he treats us this way."
"It's not because Milly isn't good enough, but because his heart has gone somewhere else."
Hearing this, Milly cried even harder. She reached out her little hands, wrapped them tightly around my neck, buried her wet little face in the crook of my shoulder, and sobbed loudly, "Mommy, take me back, let's take our place back, okay?"
Her voice was muffled, carrying a child's innocent, desperate stubbornness, "I don't want Daddy to stop wanting Mommy. Mommy is so great—you cook delicious food, you make money, and you're pretty too. How can he love someone else? Let's take it back, and then Daddy will like us again, right?"
That's how simple and direct a child's thinking is.
In Milly's view, it was like a toy being taken away—as long as she tried hard to take it back, it would belong to her again.
She didn't understand yet that hearts aren't toys. When they break, they're broken. When they crack, they're cracked. Even if you force them back together, those scars will always be there, and with the slightest touch, they might split open again.
Besides, this wasn't something that could be solved by taking it back.
When a heart is no longer with you, how can you take it back?
I held her, gently patting her back, waiting until her crying gradually turned to sniffles before slowly speaking, my voice hoarse but gentle, "Milly, Mommy doesn't want you to go back to that bad environment anymore."
"Think about Jack. He used to be naughty, but he was still a simple kid. But now? He's learned to curse, to lie, to use the most hurtful words to attack others."
"Does Milly want to become like that?"
Milly lifted her head from my arms, tears still on her face. She didn't answer me.
"Mommy doesn't want that." I kissed her forehead, "Mommy just wants my Milly to grow up in an environment full of love, respect, warmth and light. Healthy, happy, kind, and confident."
"That home can't give you these things. It will only make you sad, make you doubt yourself, make you learn bad things."
"So we're not going back, okay? Mommy and Milly, and your grandma—the three of us will start a new life together."
"We'll get better and better, Mommy promises you."
Milly looked at me, her big eyes still filled with tears, but she seemed to have taken in some of what I said.
I thought what I'd said was too deep for five-year-old Milly to understand.
I said that home was bad, that Jack had changed for the worse, that we shouldn't go back.
I thought she wouldn't understand those words, wouldn't understand the complicated and ugly calculations in the adult world.
So when I finished speaking and she stopped crying, just quietly looking at me with those wet eyes, I thought she was confused, that she didn't understand.
But the next second, she suddenly reached out her little hands and wrapped them tightly around my neck.
Her warm cheek pressed firmly against the side of my face, and her voice, heavy with congestion, clearly entered my ear, "Mommy, I don't want to become a bad kid."
"Even though I really want Daddy to hug me, really want Daddy to smile at me..." She paused, as if gathering courage, her voice becoming softer but unusually firm, "but if Daddy keeps helping outsiders bully Mommy, I can slowly stop wanting this daddy."
My heart felt like something had slammed into it hard, suddenly contracting, followed by an overwhelming wave of shock and bitterness.
I didn't expect her to say something like that.
Just moments ago, she'd been crying in fear that Daddy might die, naively wanting to take our place back.
But in this moment, still in the midst of her own sadness and hurt that hadn't fully subsided, she was struggling, trying hard to understand what I meant, and making a decision that was incredibly difficult for her.
She wasn't clueless.
She was too mature, mature in a way that broke my heart.
I knew how much courage it took for her to say she could slowly stop wanting this daddy.
It was almost like tearing herself away from that instinctive longing for a father's love deep in her heart.
This made me even more determined.
My daughter was protecting me, considering me, in her innocent way.
What reason did I have not to do everything in my power to give her a clean, sunny future?
I had to be better to her, even better, and completely drive away the shadows caused by George from her world.
And the first step was to end this marriage in name only that only brought harm, as soon as possible.
In my heart, I silently moved up the divorce timeline again.
The next morning when Milly woke up, her eyes were still a bit swollen, but her emotions had stabilized quite a bit.
She ran to my bedside in her little pajamas, climbed onto the bed, hugged me like a little koala, and said in a soft voice, "Mommy, good morning."
I kissed her forehead, "Good morning, baby."
On the way to kindergarten, she even pointed at the clouds outside the window, saying that cloud looked like a little rabbit.
Watching her little face break into a smile again, my anxious heart relaxed a little.
After safely dropping Milly off at kindergarten, I turned the car around and headed to Star Tech.
I drove into the company's underground parking garage and skillfully found my assigned spot.
I grabbed my bag, pushed open the car door, and just as my foot touched the ground, I looked up and saw a familiar figure standing in the shadows by a pillar not far away.
Sarah.
Today she wasn't wearing one of those soft, brightly colored dresses, but a crisp pantsuit, and her face didn't have that carefully crafted gentle smile. Instead, there was a serious expression.
She was looking straight at me, clearly waiting here specifically for me.
I closed the car door, locked it, and walked toward the elevator. As I passed by her, my steps didn't slow, I just spoke softly, my tone calm and flat, "George isn't here, so you're dropping the act?"
Sarah's expression changed slightly, as if she hadn't expected me to be so direct.
She stepped forward, blocking my path somewhat, her voice low but every word clear, "I've never been acting."
She stared into my eyes and continued, "George has a fever, did you know? It didn't break until the middle of the night, and he's still very weak now."
I stopped and turned around to face her directly.
"What does that have to do with me?" My voice held no emotion, only a distant indifference, "Isn't that something you should be concerned about? What are you doing here making a scene with me? Shouldn't you be taking care of him?"
I was stating the plain truth.
Given how Sarah stuck to George like glue, being so attentive and considerate, if George had even the slightest headache or fever, she'd want to guard his bedside 24/7, bringing him tea and water, putting on a show of deep devotion. How would she have the time to come to my company building early in the morning to question me?
It didn't make sense, unless she had another purpose, or George didn't need her there right now.
Sarah was momentarily stumped by my question, a flash of barely noticeable anger in her eyes, but it was quickly covered by a cold laugh, "I'll go over soon. I just came to tell you," she lifted her chin slightly with a victor's attitude, "stop shamelessly clinging to George. You should know better than anyone who's in his heart."