Chapter 3

3

Without bothering to pack any luggage, I took a cab straight to a residential high-rise in the city center.

This land had originally belonged to my parents, and they left the property to me when they passed away.

Years later, during urban redevelopment, the developers compensated me with an entire apartment building right in this prime district.

In an expensive metropolitan hub where every square inch was worth a fortune, that building was an immense fortune.

My mother had left me a letter back then, strictly warning me never to tell a soul about this property―not even my husband or children.

A woman, she wrote, must always keep an exit route for herself.

Over the decades, I had handed the building over to a rental agency and rarely even visited, nearly forgetting its existence.

Douglas and the children had absolutely no idea it existed.

Since it came from my parents' estate before marriage, it was entirely my separate property. Now that I was divorced, it was the perfect sanctuary.

I had always reserved the top-floor penthouse for myself while renting out all the other units.

I stepped slowly into the apartment, looking at the thick layer of dust covering the furniture.

Everything looked frozen in time from decades ago, except for an antique grandfather clock still ticking faithfully in the corner.

I wiped down a section of the sofa, rubbed my aching lower back, and sat down to gaze quietly at the skyline outside.

My mind drifted uncontrollably into the past.

In his youth, Douglas was considered the handsomest and most educated man in our small hometown, treated like a rare gem by everyone.

I admired him back then, and because my family was relatively well-off, my parents arranged our courtship through a matchmaker.

With the blessing of our families, we eventually married.

I had heard rumors that Douglas had a first love who disappeared during past unrest, but I never dwelled on it.

Later, because we were the only educated youth in our community, there was a chance for a professional career, but Douglas flatly forbade his wife from working outside the home.

He took the career path, while I was confined to the kitchen, washing clothes, cooking meals, and keeping house.

Whether it was chauvinism or simply being pampered by me, Douglas never lifted a finger for household chores.

He never once touched a broom or a mop.

Every day after work, he would sit in his armchair listening to the radio, expecting everything to be served to him.

Even after retiring, he spent his days watching television, tending to his pet birds, and playing cards with his buddies.

My children grew up learning the exact same habits, dumping all their chores and childcare onto my shoulders.

Cooking, laundry, deep cleaning―everything fell on me alone.

If I didn't do it, the house would descend into chaos. Even when I was hospitalized with an illness, they dragged me home early just to cook their dinner.

For sixty years, I served that entire family like a tireless servant, never asking for anything in return.

My entire existence had revolved around them.

Perhaps this ending was a blessing in disguise.

I looked around the spacious, quiet apartment.

A wave of melancholy washed over me, quickly followed by a spark of long-lost excitement.

From this moment on, I belonged entirely to myself. I could finally live the life I truly wanted.

Reinvigorated, I pulled out the passbook where decades of rent had accumulated and transferred the funds to a private account.

Years of rental income from a prime downtown building amounted to an astronomical figure. Even if I spent lavishly every day, I wouldn't burn through a fraction of it before I died.

I immediately hired a patient young tutor to teach me how to navigate a smartphone and search the internet.

Driven by my newfound freedom, I picked up the digital skills remarkably fast.

Within days, I mastered mobile payments, online shopping, and digital research.

And finally, on the internet, I found the passion I had buried for decades: ancient fresco and mural preservation.