I Left, Mr. Farley Begged Me to Come Back

The Farley family had a rule: any prospective bride had to start from the bottom. Every month, the prospective bride was expected to serve dishes and wait on guests at the family dinner, to "learn what hardship felt like."

I endured it for five years. My hands were scalded more times than I could count. A guest had once thrown wine at me before making me kneel on the floor picking up shards of broken glass.

Today, Clark Farley's childhood love, the woman of his dreams, returned from abroad. The real princess of high society. Old money, polished manners, the whole package.

At the Harvest Gala dinner, she sat at the highest position while I carried a tray past her when she stuck out her foot and tripped me.

I hit the ground hard, soup splashing all across my clothes. Clark stood, scowling at me, like I was a pest beneath his foot. "How can you be so fucking clumsy?! Go change. Don't embarass us."

Corinne Pruitt smiled and offered me a napkin. "Clark, don't blame her. She is trying her her best to fit in."

Clark gazed at her with open admiration. "Corinne, you are poised and elegant. You would make a far better Mrs. Farley than she ever could."

Countles gazes bore through my skull yet I rose quietly before turning around and limping back to the kitchen, soup still soaking through my clothes.

My mother was inside the kitchen, washing the dirty dishes. Her palms callaused and raw due to soaking detergent. I took her hands in mine. "Mom. Let's go home."

I couldn't bear to see suffering alongside me for an impossible love.

1

Back home, as I stood over the basin scrubbing the soup out of my clothes, fat tears rolled down onto the back of my hands.

Mom brought me a bowl of noodles, smiling as she gently caressed my hair. "Gilly, you've been on your feet all night. You haven't eaten, have you?"

I looked at her hands. They were swollen from hours of dishwashing, the skin at her fingertips cracked open, raw pink flesh showing underneath.

I threw my arms around her, my entire body trembling before uncontrollable sobs crawled up my thrat.

For five long years, I had foolishly shown up at every Farley dinner to serve guests and pour wine, even scrubbing floors clean, all so I could one day be accepted as Clark's bride.

All my mother's birthdays, the death anniversaries of my late family members all passed away in silence, every holiday our family should have spent together was buried under this so called 'duty'.

Mom never once complained. She just ached for me quietly, and took on the dirtiest, hardest work so I wouldn't have to.

I blinked back tears and took a bite of noodles as Mom set a mooncake on the table, broke it in half, and smiled softly.

"It's Thanksgiving Gilly. Finally, just the two of us are spending a holiday together again."

My chest felt like it had been pierced by a thousand needles, the pain so dense it nearly drowned me.

Every holiday for the past five years, I'd been at the Farley estate, hand-rolling dumplings, baking pastries, cooking from scratch, serving each dish respectfully to every guest's place, doing everything I could to please Clark.

And all that time, I had forgotten my mother was alone in the cold back corner of the kitchen, wiping sweat from her brow as she washed mountains of dirty plates.

It was at this moment my phone rang, Clark's voice coming through the speaker:

"Gilly, Corinne got her period. Bring some pads over, and make sure to brew some hot ginger tea."

Afraid that I would refuse, because he quickly added:

"Remember, a Farley bride starts from the bottom. She handles every little thing without complaint. That's the standard so you could grasp the harships faced by people below you in future."

Even without letting him finish I hung up in rage. A cold laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

The last time I'd had my period, the cramps made me dizzy in agony. But Pamela Farley had complained that the house cleaners weren't thorough enough, so Clark told me to get on my hands and knees and scrub the floors inch by inch.

I scrubbed for two solid hours until the pain knocked me unconscious on the tiles. Only then did he panic and rush me to the hospital.

'Starting from the bottom?' It was always the words that he coaxed me with to act as his slave.

At another Farley gathering, he'd had forced me to give massage to all his uncles, one after another.

My finger was still healing from a fracture, but I gritted my teeth and kept going the entire evening, desperate to win the elders' approval.

I'd even used essential oils for a better result. They seeped into the open wound, and the skin around it swelled red and raw with infection.

The uncles praised my technique. Very skilled, they said. Very comfortable.

I exhaled with relief, thinking I'd finally earned their acceptance.

Instead they were merely praising the skilled servant who could serve them more often.

Clark laughed, pleased. Then he turned to me and told me to go heat some water and wash their feet.

When it was over, I finally broke. I told Clark that I was supposed to be his future wife, not his entire family's maid.

He said I was making too big a deal out of it.

My mom brokenly watched my dim eyes for a long moment before encasing me into her protective hold. Her voice was gentle, but there was steel underneath.

"Gilly, you must leave him. You're my baby girl who grew up without lifting a finger for housework, and now look looking at you...It kills me."

I clenched my fists tightly, my nails leaving deep moon scars on my palm.

"Mom, Dad's medical bills. Clark is still paying for them."

"If I give up now, Dad's kidney transplant won't have a chance."

Mom opened a small box. Inside was the family heirloom she treasured more than her own life. Tears streamed down her face, one after another, unstoppable.

"I'd rather sell this than let you suffer one more day."

My eyes burned red again. I squeezed her hand, turned, and walked out the door.