Chapter 1

My son inherited my husband’s language talent.

At just six years old, he was already fluent in eight languages.

He and his father would often chat in foreign languages right in front of me.

Today, while we were walking through the mall, my son pointed at my stomach and said in German,

"Mama, der Bauch ist groß."

(Mom’s belly is so big.)

My husband smiled and replied in French,

"On peut mettre un cochon."

(We could fit a pig inside.)

My son doubled over laughing, mocking me in Italian,

"La mamma è un maiale."

(Mom is a pig anyway.)

I turned to ask them what they were saying, but on second thought, I decided not to.

Even if I asked, they wouldn't tell me.

Instead, they would just look at me with sneers, telling me to guess or look it up online.

I simply quickened my pace, stopped in front of a luggage store, and said to the clerk,

"Give me the largest suitcase you have, please."

After the father and son came out of the mall restroom, they went to get ice cream.

Seeing me still picking out a suitcase at the storefront, they finally walked over, looking annoyed.

Julian said, "What are you buying a suitcase for? It’s not like you’re going on a trip."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him curling his lip, mockingly imitating the way I squatted down to show our son.

Leo laughed so hard his mouth wouldn't close. The ice cream in his hand dripped onto the white denim jeans I had just washed for him.

He flinched instinctively, but then, seeing his father backing him up, all fear vanished.

He didn't even bother to move his legs, letting the ice cream melt and run down his pants.

I turned my head away, not wanting to watch the scene that was making my blood pressure spike.

Instead, I kept discussing the details of the suitcase with the store owner.

Seeing me ignore him, Julian asked again.

"Clara, are you mute?"

"You don't speak foreign languages, but did you forget English too?"

I didn't see what was so funny about that.

But hearing it, Leo burst into laughter again.

A wave of disgust washed over me. For the first time, I wondered if there was something wrong with my own son's head.

To avoid making a scene in the mall, I explained that our old suitcase at home was worn out and I was just replacing it.

Julian gave a dismissive grunt, then pulled Leo toward the arcade on the second floor.

He was always like this. He never asked questions because he wanted answers.

He just wanted me to submit to his rules.

In his eyes, I was not allowed to ignore him, and I was not allowed to disobey.

Naturally, it wasn't just me.

Everyone in this family had to obey his commands.

He was a male chauvinist. Before we got married, I actually thought that was a good thing.

I was indecisive and weak-willed.

So my mother had suggested I find a strong, capable man to spend the rest of my life with.

Then I found him. He was indeed very efficient.

From daily meals to buying our house, to which school our child should attend and what extracurricular classes to sign up for.

Whenever he saw me struggling to decide, he would make the best choice for me. Our life together had seemed pleasant enough.

But ever since we discovered our son's language talent,

Cracks began to slowly appear in our lives.

Julian wanted Leo to learn as much as possible.

He signed him up for French, German, Mandarin, Italian, Japanese, and Korean.

Recently, seeing how fast Leo was learning, he added Spanish and Swedish.

I felt terrible for our son and tried to convince Julian not to push him so hard, warning him it might backfire.

But he wouldn’t listen. He lectured me on how this was for Leo's future, hinting that I simply didn't know how to raise a child.

Because Leo spent so much time with him, he gradually started harboring resentment toward me too.

Everything I did was wrong. Anything I did made him angry.

Even today, fearing he was cooped up studying too much, I brought him to the mall, only for him to complain the entire way that I was ruining his study time.

It was obvious. I was despised by both my husband and my son.

Over the years, it wasn't that I hadn't tried to fit in.

But I really couldn't learn those foreign languages. Even though I memorized vocabulary until midnight, carrying word cards while working or doing chores, I just couldn't retain them.

But Leo only had to look at a word once to remember it. He would then laugh at me, calling me the stupidest person in the house.

Over time, my confidence was crushed, and I decided to stop trying.

I resigned myself to taking care of the housework and being their support.

But as time went on, I became nothing more than a maid in their eyes.

Aside from sentences like, "Mom, I want steak tonight," or "Clara, where are my socks?"

They had no other communication with me.

Their attention was never on me.

Even when I cut my hand while chopping vegetables, or got my foot caught in the elevator door,

They didn't even bother to spare me a glance.

I was utterly sick of it.

In this home, I felt zero love.

And on top of that,

I had to constantly endure their malicious mockery.

During dinner, if Julian wanted to test Leo’s language skills, he would suddenly ask him,

"Leo, how do you say 'Mom's cooking tastes awful' in Korean?"

Leo would think for a moment, then, getting a bright idea, reply:

"엄마가 만든 음식은 정말 맛이 없다"

And just like that, Leo would be rewarded with screen time on his computer.

Or before bed, Julian would suddenly quiz Leo, asking him to translate a Japanese sentence into English.

"母は日本の女性によく似ている"

Leo didn't understand the underlying meaning of the sentence, but he translated it word-for-word anyway.

His childish voice echoed in the bedroom.

"The translation is: My wife is just like an old-fashioned Japanese housewife."

Then, Leo asked curiously, "Daddy, are Japanese housewives as ugly and submissive as Mommy?"

Julian's eyes flashed with a knowing gleam. He raised an eyebrow and said maliciously,

"You'll understand when you grow up."

Hearing their conversation, I naturally felt sick to my stomach.

I pulled Julian into our room, complaining about why he had to do that, why he was teaching our son such things, and why he was always targeting me.

But Julian didn't feel he had done anything wrong at all. He replied unreasonably,

"What? Are you saying I don't know how to raise my own kid?"

"Fine, you raise him then."

He knew very well that Leo never listened to me.

Saying this was nothing short of a provocation and a show of power.

I backed down, uttering a few useless words about not doing it again,

And then covered my face with the blanket and went to sleep.

Only today, I suddenly didn't want to hide under the blanket anymore.

I had always deliberately pretended not to care.

Hiding myself away to lick my wounds.

But in reality, it hurt deeply.

I couldn't discipline my son,

And I couldn't get respect from my husband.

I was a failure. An absolute failure.

That was why I bought that massive suitcase.

To pack my few clothes,

And my trampled dignity.