I slumped on the living room couch, my gaze shifting between my phone and the portrait of my late mother.
She had cried in her last moments, entrusting me to John’s care and begging him to look after me.
Standing by her deathbed, John had solemnly promised, “Mom, you can rest easy. I’ll take good care of Yasmin for you.”
However, since she had been gone, John started spending more and more nights away from home.
He would come home reeking of another woman’s perfume, his skin often marked with telltale signs of betrayal.
Every time it happened, tears would stream down my face as I asked him if there was someone else.
He would snap back, “You’re going crazy! You’re cooped up all day playing housewife, and you’re starting to imagine crazy things. I’m out there networking, so of course I’m gonna pick up different scents.”
Snapping out of it, I gathered my things and made my way to my mom’s grave.
I laid down the flowers and poured my heart out to her tombstone.
I told her that I was happy and that John treated me well.
I lied, not wanting her to worry about me from beyond the stars.
