Chapter 11
Zachary went home in despondence, but awaiting him there was the “surprise” I left for
him. Not for a second did I ever intend to forgive his arrogance, mistrust, and mockery of
me so easily.
As soon as he opened the door and turned on the lights, he saw the familiar–looking jar I
left on the dining table. It was the one Marie brought from her place. I even left a note on it.
“These are the pickles Mom made and brought over immediately after you mentioned them
during your call with her. Do you think she would’ve died if she hadn’t come over to deliver this that day?”
Zachary fell to his knees. Tears streamed uncontrollably. He looked like an anguished
beast, howling in despair.
“Mom! Mom! It’s all my fault! I know I did a terrible thing. I’m to blame for everything!”
I witnessed the whole thing through the security footage from my phone, and I sneered at his reaction. What was the use of regretting everything now? There was no way to bring
Marie back.
Once Zachary calmed down some, he tried to get in touch with John and me. He wanted to
visit Marie’s grave. Neither one of us agreed to let him, of course.
Zachary tried to keep me too. When he came to my newly rented apartment with a bouquet of roses in hand, I simply eyed him in disdain and said, “I don’t like clingy men who don’t
know how to take no for an answer, Zachary. You’re dead to me now.”
As I threw the bouquet of carefully selected roses to the ground, Zachary’s eyes flashed
with hurt.
“I’m sorry, Annie. I know I hurt you, but Mom has always wanted us to live happily together. Can’t you give me another chance out of consideration for her?”
Chuckling, I asked, “Do you know what Mom’s final words were, Zachary? She said she
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Chapter 11
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supported my decision to get a divorce. She also said she never thought you’d turn out to be a bastard like your dad.”
Zachary fell silent. All along, he deeply resented his father for abandoning him and Marie,
but now, he had become the person he detested the most. He turned around and left,
pestering me no longer.
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