Chapter 9: A Different Life
952 Words
“I didn’t sell everything. Some I’m still using, after all, some of it was bought with my own money.”
He struggled, but I held him tight. His eyes darted around, clearly out of excuses.
Sure enough, the next moment he collapsed to the ground and started throwing a tantrum.
“Oh, help! This unfilial son dares to hit his old man! Come look, everyone! The son hit the father!”
He flailed his arms wildly, kicking the ground as dust flew up, sticking to his wrinkled, foul-smelling clothes.
People around watched with mixed expressions—some surprised, some sympathetic, some indifferent—but no one dared step forward to stop him.
I quietly watched his foolish spectacle unfold.
In my previous life, when the factory collapsed, that old man shamelessly dragged Lou Yue in public, trying to extort money to buy booze before the place closed.
Lou Yue knew from me that he was a scoundrel, but she had no idea just how rotten he really was.
I still remember how she, having barely recovered, held our child and stepped outside only to be pointed at and whispered about by strangers.
Before marrying me, Lou Yue was always admired and praised, never treated like a spectacle.
The old man’s shameless shouts overlapped in my ears, his lecherous figure haunting my mind like a bad memory from the previous life.
My numb heart suddenly sparked with irritation.
I grabbed his collar and yanked him up.
A little red rimmed my eyes as I warned, “Keep making a scene, and the bigger it gets, the more everyone will know that you’re a drunk who’s never supported me.”
I roared out the pain and bitterness I had carried through two lifetimes because of this biological father.
“My mother’s money was squandered by you. If I’m alive today, it’s because there are kind souls around me.”
“You never raised me. Don’t expect me to care for you. If you dare show your face here again, I’ll sue you. Don’t forget how much money you stole from me.”
His face paled at my words. People around pointed fingers at him.
I loosened my grip, and he immediately collapsed to the ground.
As I turned away, the sound of breaking glass and warnings from onlookers reached my ears.
The old man grabbed the broken bottle and lunged at me.
But I just stood there, staring into his wild eyes with nothing but weariness.
This life is so frustrating, I thought. What’s the point?
Maybe it’s better if he dies. Then Lou Yue’s life and mine would truly become two parallel lines.
Amid the chaos and screams, I faintly saw the Lou Yue of my previous life.
After I told her about my gutter rat existence, she gently held my face, forcing me to look at her.
She looked me in the eyes, saying every word carefully:
“Don’t let anyone else interfere with your life. You have to live your own way. Even if it’s mud, you can still plaster a wall.”
She kissed my brow and softly said,
“My love, you are not a worthless man.”
My body reacted before my mind. I stepped back half a pace.
The Lou Yue from my past pulled me back.
The sharp bottle stabbed into my right arm.
The warm, bright blood made the old man’s drunken haze give way to fear.
His trembling hands loosened their grip, his eyes full of terror.
I couldn’t help but laugh. This scoundrel, shunned even by his relatives, actually feared me.
What could he be afraid of?
That I’d send him to jail?
I covered the bleeding wound on my arm and looked down coldly, as if feeling no pain.
Parting my pale lips, I gave him a final warning:
“One last time—don’t appear in my sight again. Otherwise, with this intentional injury, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life behind bars.”
He swallowed nervously, the smell of spilled alcohol making me sick.
“Get lost. Haven’t you seen the cops coming?”
My “kind reminder” sent him scrambling to his feet, running away without looking back.
I picked up the shattered glass and threw it into the trash.
That old man is really dumb—I lied about the cops. None of these people were relatives or neighbors. Nobody’s calling the police. This is a family matter.
I went to the hospital to get my arm treated.
The smell of disinfectant made me feel uneasy inside.
Back in my previous life, Lou Yue’s postpartum depression made her refuse to admit she had a mental illness. I had to visit the hospital often.
Eventually, through my shameless persistence and with the doctor’s help, I got her added as a WeChat contact.
She told me that even with the active care of family, new mothers are still prone to postpartum depression.
The process of childbirth had taken a toll on her body and left her exhausted. On top of that, she still had to care for the newborn, which made her physical and mental state fragile.
Although the family gave her some care and attention, it still wasn’t enough to meet her emotional and psychological needs.
If a new mother lacks sufficient social and emotional support, she might feel isolated and overwhelmed.
Every time I thought about this, I couldn’t help but slap myself.
Is this how you act as a husband? Damn bastard.
But Lou Yue, despite her own suffering, often comforted me and understood how hard I was working to juggle everything.
My wife, my love.
Damn, she was really too good.
- Writer
