I Dropped His Dying Mom At His Wedding novel Chapter 2

I staggered home like a wandering soul.

The summer sun blazed fiercely, scorching the earth, and the weeds by the roadside were withered and dry.

But I felt no heat, only a coldness seeping out from the very cracks of my bones.

As soon as I pushed open the door, a stale stench mixed with the smell of medicine and urine hit me in the face.

“Water

water…” Emilie lay on the bed, moaning indistinctly.

Half a year ago, she’d had a stroke and been left paralyzed. Now, she was unable to move, speak clearly, or take care of herself at all.

I looked at the haggard, aged woman on the bed, my heart going numb.

I walked over mechanically, poured a cup of warm water, and fed it slowly into her chapped lips with a spoon.

Her cloudy eyes fixed on me, as if she wanted to say something, but only a vague “ah” sound escaped.

Once, I’d always felt sorry for Emilie, taking care of her with all my strength. I’d cleaned up messes without a single complaint.

Tristian was her only son, her everything.

And I, as Tristian’s wife, had thought it only right to look after his mother.

But now, as I looked at her, the warmth and pity I’d once felt were all gone.

I didn’t owe Emilie anything.

Why should I be stuck here, guarding a paralyzed old woman and an empty house, while my traitor husband was enjoying his new life elsewhere?

I was no saint.

Hatred grew in my heart like wild weeds.

her

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10:46

288 Vouchers

I had to find out the truth. I needed to see the evidence with my own eyes.

The military was disciplined. I couldn’t just make accusations without proof. First, I had to go to the Tarrant County Clerk’s Office.

I went next door to ask my neighbor, Valerie Howe, to help look after Emilie. Then, I grabbed my birth certificate and ID card and took the shuttle bus to Tarrant County.

Tarrant County Clerk’s Office lobby had air conditioning on, but its coolness was no match for the icy cold in my chest.

I stood in line, and my hands and feet were as cold as a corpse’s.

When it was my turn, I slid my ID through the window, saying in a hoarse voice, “Hello, I want to check my marital status.”

The staff member, a woman in her thirties, took my ID, tapped a few keys on her computer, then looked up at me with a sympathetic gaze.

“Ms. Christina Steele? The system shows you and Mr. Tristian Kent filed for divorce on June 12 this year.”

Her words crushed the last sliver of hope in my heart.

“C–can I see the divorce papers?” I asked, my voice almost a plea.

She hesitated for a moment, then pulled up the electronic file.

On the screen, the so–called “divorce agreement” seared my eyes.

Its contents were absurdly simple. It read we had irreconcilable differences and agreed to divorce voluntarily. I, Christina, waived all rights to the couple’s joint property and child custody.

My name was on the signature area.

But the handwriting was crooked, like a child’s scribble. It was nothing like my neat script.

Yet the bright red fingerprint below, and the ID card seal beside it, were real.

Tristian, you calculating bastard!

You used a forged signature to steal everything from me!

I stared at the screen, trembling with rage. The staff member seemed to want to lighten the mood, adding casually, “Say, isn’t this convenient? Didn’t your ex–husband, Tristian, just register for marriage with a Ms. Owen this morning? Young people move fast these days.”

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10:46

It was like a bomb went off in my head.

This morning?

He was already remarried to someone else?

So eager, so ruthless!

I could almost see him that morning: dressed in a crisp new military uniform, he held a young, beautiful woman at his side, both grinning from ear to ear.

Right here, in the same place where I learned that my own marriage was canceled, they were starting theirs.

As for me, their so–called “obstacle“? I was stupid enough to keep his home running and look after his paralyzed mother!

All the pain, humiliation, and resentment boiled into pure rage and icy hatred at that moment.

I swore I wouldn’t let Tristian and Megan enjoy their married life.

I squeezed my fists so tight, and my sharp nails dug deep into my palms, blood seeping through

the skin.

The pain only made me more sober.

When I walked out of the County Clerk’s Office, the sun outside stung my eyes, but there was no warmth in my chest. My winter had long since arrived.

I wouldn’t cry or kick up a fuss.

Tears were the most useless thing in the world.

I’d make them pay the most agonizing price for what they’d done.

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