Chapter 3The Will Left By My Mother

When I woke up, the air smelled like disinfectant. I tried to sit up, but a warm hand gently pressed down on my shoulder.

"Don't move. You're on an IV."

It was Dad's voice.

He set a glass of warm water on the nightstand, his voice stiff.

"Low blood sugar and malnutrition. Is this how your mother takes care of you?"

I scrambled to defend her.

"No! Mom saved all the good food for me! She only ate plain oatmeal..."

I remembered those hard days.

Mom grew thinner and paler by the day, yet she always smiled as she put the only boiled egg onto my plate.

When I woke up hungry at night, I would catch her in the kitchen, choking down stale bread with cold tap water.

Dad turned his face away.

"She ran off with millions. How poor could she be to let her own kid starve?"

I wanted to stand up for Mom, but I had screamed so hard earlier that my throat throbbed with pain.

"When is your mother coming to pick you up?"

My heart sank into my chest.

"Mom isn't coming to pick me up. Mom became a star."

"Enough!"

He stood up and paced the floor, visibly agitated.

"Stop saying things like that."

"Until your mother shows up, you'll stay at my place. I want to see how long she can play hide-and-seek."

I froze.

Dad was letting me stay?

"It's only temporary. When she finally shows her face, I'm going to find out what kind of game she's playing this time."

My mind was a tangled mess.

Dad still didn't believe that Mom was gone.

* * *

After the IV finished, Dad brought me back to the grand house.

I couldn't sleep, so I walked barefoot down the long hallway.

At the very end, a door stood cracked open.

I pushed it open gently and gasped.

The room was massive. Three walls were lined with glass wardrobes filled with dresses.

Every single one was unique, completely different from anything sold in stores.

A soft lavender dress caught my eye.

It looked so familiar.

"What are you doing in here?"

I jumped in surprise and turned around.

Dad stood at the doorway, a troubled look on his face.

"I... was just exploring."

Dad didn't scold me. He walked over to the lavender dress and gently brushed his fingers along the fabric.

It was the exact same way he had touched the photo.

I gathered my courage and asked, "Who did you make all these clothes for?"

Dad's hand froze mid-air.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

"None of your business."

I pointed at the lavender dress.

"But Mom wears that exact same dress in one of her photos. She said you designed it for her."

"What else did she say?"

His voice rasped.

"Mom said you designed so many dresses for her."

"She said you called her your muse, and that you promised to dress her in the prettiest gowns in the world."

Dad fell completely silent.

He walked over to a dress mannequin and stared at an unfinished white gown.

"This room... gets a new addition every month."

I stared at him in disbelief.

Every month?

"But Mom left six years ago. Why are you still making dresses for her?"

Dad didn't answer.

He just stood there, surrounded by a room full of dresses.

Looking at his silhouette from behind, I suddenly recalled Mom sitting in the dark, crying over that old photo.

Maybe Dad didn't hate Mom as much as he claimed to.

"Go back to bed. Don't come into this room again."

I nodded softly and slowly walked toward the door.

As I reached the doorway, I couldn't help but look back one last time.

Dad was still standing there, his back turned to me.

His tall and rigid posture looked somehow lonely in the quiet room.