Chapter 1
Seeing how understanding I was, a rare look of satisfaction appeared on Charles’ usually expressionless face.
“You don’t need to make dinner tonight,” he said, as if bestowing a favor upon me.
The next second, Lena’s coquettish voice rang out: “Charles, darling, I suddenly have a craving for durian.”
She and a group of her black classmates had just come out of the music room, which used to be my piano room. Charles indulged them to make noise in there every day.
Charles immediately turned to me: “Go, open a durian for Lena.”
I looked at the large, spiky durian on the coffee table. Charles had flown in a plane full of them from Lena’s home country last week. However, our housekeeper had taken leave to visit her hometown two days ago.
“We don’t have a knife for opening durians, I…”
“Use your hands,” Charles interrupted me. “Lena likes to eat them freshly opened, it’s fresher that way.”
He said it casually, as if he was just asking me to peel an orange.
Lena leaned on Charles’ shoulder, looking at me with a victorious attitude.
I took a deep breath and walked over to the durian.
The sharp spikes easily cut through my skin.
The strong smell of durian mixed with the metallic scent of my blood, filling the living room.
One of Lena’s black female classmates, sitting on the sofa, glanced at me with a look of amusement, making tsk-tsk sounds.
“My, Mrs. Shaw is so virtuous, even peeling a durian is such a ceremonious affair.”
“She’s just clumsy though. Look at that blood, hope it doesn’t drip onto the fruit. That would be quite unlucky according to our customs,” another shrill voice added.
I shakily placed the peeled durian on a plate and pushed it in front of Lena.
Lena picked up a piece and elegantly put it in her mouth, closing her eyes in satisfaction. “Mmm, Charles is so good to me, he knows I love this.”
She didn’t even glance at me, as if the wounds on my hands had nothing to do with her.
Later that evening, Charles suddenly announced: “From now on, Lena will be in charge of the household finances.”
I was stunned.
“You spend money recklessly and you’re stupid. You can’t even keep the accounts straight,” he said.
“Lena is a college student. She’s smarter than you and knows how to save money.”
I felt nothing but absurdity.
When had I ever been reckless with money all these years?
Charles’ parents were in poor health, frequently hospitalized and needing medication. Which expense hadn’t I carefully calculated, even using my own private savings to make up the difference?
Charles had used the startup capital I gave him to build his business, and later to run his so-called African charity.
He used those fake projects and tragic stories to scam donations from followers and wealthy businessmen.
The pain from the spikes on my hands grew worse, red and swollen. Even the slightest touch was agonizing.
Lena and her black classmates giggled nearby. One of them pointed at my hands and said: “Tsk tsk, how will you play the piano with those hands now?”