Mr. Harrison nodded understandingly. He once again took a folder from his secretar’s briefcase. This one dark blue, different from the one with the will. Mr. Harrison tossed the folder onto the table in front of Mark. The folder slid smoothly and stopped right in front of a panting mark. Mr. Harrison ordered Mark to open the folder and read it carefully before daring to kick out the rightful owner.

Mark’s hands trembled violently as he took the folder. He opened it abruptly, nearly tearing the papers inside. His eyes scanned the written lines. It was the property deed for the land and building of this house, and on it the name of the legal owner was clearly listed. Eleanor Vance. My mother’s name, not Mark. Mark’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in disbelief. He flipped through the pages of the deed, searching for his name, for any proof of his ownership, but it was in vain. His name appeared nowhere. I stepped forward and approached Mark. My voice was calm, but it cut into his conscience. I explained the truth my mother had hidden all this time to protect her son-in-law’s pride.

I told him that the mortgage money he gave me each month was laughably small for paying off such a large house in this upscale neighborhood. The money he gave me barely covered our daily food expenses if my mother hadn’t secretly supplemented it. This house had been bought by my mother 10 years ago, long before I married Mark, paid for entirely in cash. My mother had let Mark feel like he was the owner of the house. She had let him boast about the renovations, even though the cost of changing the wallpaper had been reimbursed by my mother through the expense money, just so Mark could feel like a respected head of the family.

But today, because Mark had trampled on my mother’s honor, the truth had to come out. Mark shook his head violently, refusing to believe it. He screamed hysterically that it was impossible, that he had invested a lot of money in this house, but his shouts were useless. The legal proof was right before his eyes. He was nothing but a freeloader who didn’t know his place. He had lived in the house of the mother-in-law he insulted. He had eaten with the money of the mother-in-law he belittled, and now he was trying to kick out the owner’s own daughter. Mr. Harrison looked at Mark with manifest disgust. He said in a booming voice that Mark didn’t have a single inch of right to this land, and since Mrs.

Vance had bequeathed all her assets to me, the sole owner of this house was now me. With absolute power in my hands, I pointed to the front door, which was wide open. The night wind was beginning to bring a gust of cold air, as if signaling to take out the trash quickly. I said the word I had wanted to say for so long. Get out. The word left my mouth lightly, but with a devastating weight for Mark. I didn’t shout. I spoke with the firmness of a queen giving an order in her own domain. I told Mark and Jessica to get out of my house immediately.

I never wanted to see their faces again. I didn’t want the air of the house my mother had left me to be further contaminated by their breath. Mark tried to resist. He stood up and tried to grab my hand, perhaps to plead or to threaten. I don’t know. But before his dirty fingers could touch my skin, Mr. Harrison’s two bodyguards moved swiftly, grabbing both his arms, twisting them behind his back, and restraining him forcefully. Mark thrashed like a madman, shouting and insulting me, calling me an ungrateful wife, but his screams only sounded like the barking of a trapped dog. The bodyguards dragged Mark by force towards the exit.

Mark’s shoes squeaked as they scraped against the tile floor that I had mopped with tears that very afternoon. This time, that floor was a silent witness to the expulsion of the parasite that had been eating away at my happiness. Seeing Mark being dragged away, Jessica tried to take the opportunity to slip away, but I wouldn’t let her escape so easily. I called her name loudly. Jessica froze, her body tensed. I ordered the bodyguard to make sure Jessica also went out the door of my house and that she took nothing but the clothes on her back. The handbag, phone, and jewelry bought with fraudulent money had already been confiscated.

Jessica looked at me with pleading eyes, but I turned away. She had to feel what it was like to have nothing. Just as she had tried to trample on my dignity earlier, Mark and Jessica were pushed out the front door, stumbling onto the front yard. The sky, which had been holding back, finally broke. The rain began to pour down in sheets. Not a drizzle, but a deluge that soaked them in an instant. The rainwater mixed with Mark’s tears. He got up, drenched. His hair, once neatly styled, now hung limply over his forehead. He ran back to the porch, banging on the glass door that the bodyguards had locked from the inside.

He screamed my name, begging for forgiveness, saying he had nowhere to go. He said his wallet was left inside, and he didn’t have a single dollar in his pocket because I had told the bodyguard not to give it to him. I stood behind the large living room window, watching the scene outside with an empty heart. The porch light illuminated Mark’s pathetic figure. He pounded on the glass, his face pressed against it, distorted by the streams of rain. He looked like a ghost from the past, trying to haunt me. But this glass now separated us. Behind Mark, Jessica stood shivering from the cold. Her mascara had run, staining her cheeks and making her look like a weeping clown.

Mark turned to Jessica, hoping his mistress could help him. He asked her to take him in her car to let him sleep at her place. But the drama in the yard was not yet over. Jessica, realizing that Mark was now a useless beggar who had also dragged her into legal trouble, flatly refused in the pouring rain. Jessica’s screams could be heard as she pushed Mark, causing him to fall into a mud puddle. Jessica yelled that all this misfortune was Mark’s fault. She called him a man of bad luck, a scammer, an idiot. The couple who had been feeding each other cake in my party now pushed and insulted each other in the mud of my yard.

The neighbors, drawn by the commotion, began to come out onto their porches. They watched the free show with mocking glances. Mark’s reputation in this neighborhood had completely collapsed. Now everyone knew his true face. Finally, ashamed of being seen by the neighbors and chilled to the bone, Jessica ran off in the rain, leaving my yard without a backward glance at Mark. She left him alone, lying in the mud. Mark tried to follow her but slipped. He fell and got up, stumbling towards the gate that had opened automatically. Mr. Harrison’s bodyguard, after making sure Mark had crossed the threshold of the gate, pressed a button on the remote.

The sturdy, tall iron gate closed slowly, forever separating my world from Marks. Mark was left outside the gate, clinging to the cold bars, looking at this house that now shone warm and bright. He realized that the gates of the paradise he had been living in had closed forever. And now he had to face the earthly hell he had created for himself. I turned and walked away from the window. I didn’t want to see him again. I took a deep breath, inhaling the air of the room that now felt more spacious, though still messy. Mr. Harrison gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder and a paternal encouraging smile.

That night, with the sound of rain hitting the roof, I felt truly alone, but not helpless. I felt free. This house was my mother’s and mine again. One month had passed since that stormy night. Time had flown, bringing drastic changes to my life. This morning, the sun streamed brightly through my bedroom curtains, greeting a new day with a different kind of warmth. There were no more of Mark’s shouts rushing me to make breakfast. There was no more fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. The large house my mother had left me now felt silent and peaceful. I woke up with a light heart, said my morning prayers, and prayed for my mother’s soul to rest in peace.

Then I got ready to go, not to the kitchen or the market, but to the company headquarters. I stood in front of the large mirror in my room. My reflection had changed. My face, once dull and always tired from mental pressure, now looked fresh and radiant. My eyes, once swollen from tears, now emanated determination and intelligence. I wore a professional, elegant suit, without excessive frills, but which exuded an aura of authority. I adjusted my scarf slightly, making sure everything was perfect. Today was an important day. An extraordinary general meeting of shareholders would be held, and I, Sarah, would take the place my mother should have occupied.

The company car was waiting for me at the entrance of the house. A personal chauffeur opened the door for me courteously. During the drive to the financial district, I watched the city’s skyscrapers. I used to be just the wife of an ordinary employee who knew nothing of this world. Now, I was the owner of one of the tallest buildings in the city. Upon arriving at the office, the welcome I received was extraordinary. From the receptionist to the department heads, employees gave a respectful nod as I walked through the lobby. I heard whispers of admiration. They knew who I was. They knew I was the daughter of the company’s founder, the woman who had uncovered the corruption scandal of a former director, and brought a breath of fresh air.

I entered the boardroom. The room was large, cool, and dominated by a long oval mahogany table. Around the table sat elderly directors and auditors with decades of experience. I would never have even imagined entering this room before, but today I walked in with my head held high. Mr. Harrison stood to greet me and invited me to sit at the head of the table, the seat that had been empty, my mother’s seat. When I sat down, everyone fell silent, awaiting my instructions. With a calm but firm voice, I began the meeting. I discussed the company’s new vision, fairer employee welfare policies, and the eradication of the corrupt practices that had proliferated under the previous management.

I spoke not just as an heiress, but as someone who understood the values of hard work and honesty that my mother had instilled in me. While I was presiding over a meeting in a cool skyscraper, Mark was living a very different fate. In a squalid, overcrowded corner of the city, in a damp and narrow 10-by-10-foot boarding house room, Mark lay curled up on a thin foam mattress that smelled of mildew. The ceiling of his room leaked, and water from the previous night’s rain dripped onto the already cracked tile floor. There was no air conditioning, only a small, dusty, and noisy fan. Mark was awakened by loud banging on the door.

His heart leaped. It wasn’t a visitor. It was the debt collectors. Since being fired and kicked out, Mark’s life had completely fallen apart. His name was blacklisted in the industry. No company wanted to hire him after the embezzlement and immorality scandal spread. He tried to get a job as a ride share driver, but his account was rejected for having a criminal record under police investigation. His savings were nil. His credit cards were blocked. His friends avoided him like the plague. Even the woman he once adored. Jessica was now a witness for the prosecution, testifying against him to get a reduced sentence. Mark was truly alone.

The banging on the door grew louder, accompanied by rude shouts demanding payment. Mark covered his ears with the pillow, trembling with fear. His stomach ached. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. He only ate raw instant noodles because the gas for his portable stove had run out, and he had no money to buy a new canister. His face, once neat and arrogant, was now gaunt, covered by a scruffy beard, and his eyes were sunken in terrible dark circles. He looked at the news on social media on the screen of a cheap, cracked phone. There was a photo of me next to Mr. Harrison launching a company social responsibility project.

I was smiling elegantly, Mark cried. Tears of belated regret soaked the old pillow. He remembered again the comfortable house, the delicious food, and the wife who had served him with all her heart. He had thrown it all away for a momentary pleasure, and now he had to pay the price with a life of suffering. Back in my life, after the meeting and signing some important documents, I asked the chauffeur to take me to the place I most wanted to go, Oakidge Cemetery. The evening sky was a reddish orange color.

As I entered the cemetery grounds, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. I walked to my mother’s grave. The grave was now well tended. The grass was beginning to grow green, and her name was beautifully engraved on the black marble headstone. I knelt beside my mother’s headstone and placed a basket of fresh, fragrant jasmine flowers, her favorite. I gently caressed my mother’s name engraved on the stone. There were no more tears of pain constricting my chest as there were a month ago, only a warm longing and deep gratitude. I began to speak as if my mother were sitting next to me. I told her about today’s meeting, about Mr.

Harrison, who had helped me so much, and about how I was beginning to rebuild my life. I also whispered softly that justice had been done, that the person who had hurt us had paid the price, and that for my own peace of mind, I had forgiven that past. Mom, I whispered softly, my voice carried by the evening wind. I’m not crying anymore. I’m strong now. You don’t have to worry anymore. The legacy of courage you gave me is far more valuable than all this wealth. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt my mother’s presence in the breeze that caressed my face. It was like her last warm hug.

I felt as if a heavy burden had been completely lifted from my shoulders. I opened my eyes and smiled sweetly at the headstone. I stood up and lightly brushed the dust off my clothes. The sun was beginning to set on the western horizon. But for me, it was not the end of the day. It was the new dawn of my life. I turned and walked away from the cemetery with firm, confident steps. At the cemetery gate, my car was waiting. I got in, ready to face a bright future. A future where I was not an extra in someone else’s drama, but the protagonist of my own story.

The story of tears over a party was over, closed with the golden ink of victory and justice.