The Son-in-Law They Regretted Losing

The rain in the city didn’t just fall. It felt like it was trying to drown everything. I was standing on the corner of 4th Main Street, shivering while my bike leaned against a dented trash can. 

My uniform was soaked all the way through. The smell of the lukewarm stir-fry I was carrying mixed with the smell of rain and wet streets. My phone buzzed in my pocket, the screen lighting up with a warning that the delivery was incomplete. 

I looked up at the house number and realized I was exactly three seconds late.

The front door swung open before I could even raise my hand to knock. A man wearing a tailored suit stood in the warm entryway. 

He did not even look at my face. He just grabbed the plastic bag from my hands, checked his watch, and made a disgusted face.

"You are late," he said, his voice sounding bored, as if I were just a piece of trash that had drifted onto his porch.

"I am sorry, sir. The traffic was really bad because of the rain."

He did not let me finish my sentence. He tipped the carton of food over right in front of me, letting the dark sauce and noodles splatter across my boots and the legs of my pants. 

Then, he grabbed the cold bottle of milk he had also ordered and poured it directly over my head. 

It dripped down my nose and ran into my mouth, tasting sour and cold.

"Clean it up," he said, turning back toward his warm hallway.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him. My hands balled into tight fists, and my knuckles turned completely white. 

But then I stopped myself. 

I remembered the hospital. 

I remembered the machines beeping quietly in my mother’s small room, and the heavy bill sitting on my kitchen table that I could not pay on my own. 

A good rating on this single delivery would give me a ten-cent bonus. Just ten cents. To a wealthy man, ten cents was completely invisible, pocket change discarded without a thought. 

But to me, every single ten-cent coin was a life-saving brick. It was through these tiny coins, scraped together penny by penny, that I paid for the daily routine surgeries, the sterile bandages, and the medication that kept my mother breathing.

I wiped the white milk out of my eyes and looked down at the sticky mess on the concrete porch. 

Reaching into my bike bag, I grabbed the paper towels I always kept with me and started scrubbing the ground. I worked as fast as my hands could move. 

When the concrete was clean, I stood up and cleared my throat.

"Sir?" I called out, trying to stop my voice from shaking.

The man looked back out the door, looking annoyed.

"I have cleaned it all up," I said, keeping my eyes on the floor. "Could you please give me a five-star review? It really helps me out."

The man looked at me like I was a cockroach that had learned how to speak. He did not say a single word. 

He just slammed the heavy door right in my face.

I stood there in the freezing rain for a long time before I got back on my bike and started pedaling toward home.

The house felt like a large refrigerator. It was a beautiful house, big, modern, and filled with expensive art that Sloane had picked out from fancy galleries, but it never felt like my home. It felt like a hotel where I was the only person working without pay. 

Yet, as I pushed open the heavy front door, I swallowed my fatigue.

I truly loved Sloane. I was deeply, purely in love with my wife. When we got married, I promised myself I would give up absolutely everything to ensure her happiness, and I had done exactly that. 

Lately, after years of marriage, a cold voice in my mind began to suspect that she had changed into a completely different person, but I fought that voice down. She was my wife, the woman I had sworn to protect.

I walked into the kitchen, dripping dirty rainwater onto the pristine white tile. I did not even have time to take off my wet shoes before I heard the sharp click-clack of high heels on the floor. 

Odette, my mother-in-law, walked into the room, holding a cup of tea and looking at my soaked delivery uniform with total disgust.

"You stink, Riven," she said, plugging her nose and looking away from me. "You are tracking dirt everywhere. I just paid to have these floors cleaned this morning."

I looked down at her polished tile, and a sudden wave of memory washed over me. I remembered a time when my father was still alive, our old house, a place where I never had to worry about life's crushing burdens, where the rooms were always filled with warmth and real laughter. 

My father had respected me. My mother had smiled. 

Now, I looked down at my own rough hands, greasy from the kitchen prep, and silently took the insult. 

I was completely used to this by now. I was used to being treated like a useless live-in son-in-law who could be pushed around by anyone in this house. 

But I told myself it was all worth it because Sloane was so wonderful. I would bear any humiliation for her, as long as she still loved me.

"I am sorry, Odette. I will clean it up right away," I said, my voice sounding flat.

"Do not just apologize to me. Do something useful for once. Cook dinner. Sloane will be home soon and she is famished after her meetings."

"I need to check on my mom first," I told her quietly. "I have to get right back to the hospital."

Odette snapped her eyes toward me, her gaze sharp. "Your mother can wait. My daughter cannot. If you want to keep living under this roof for free, you will do what you are told. Now, get to the stove."

I walked over to the kitchen counter and spent the next hour cooking a large meal. When I finally finished and set the plates down, Odette took one bite and immediately spat it back onto her plate.

"This is terrible," she complained, slamming her fork down. "You cannot even cook a simple meal correctly. You truly are completely useless."

Before I could even answer, she walked back into the room carrying a plastic bucket and sat down heavily in a chair, kicking off her shoes.

"Fetch some hot water," she commanded. "I want to soak my feet."

I grabbed the bucket and filled it with hot water from the kitchen tap, bringing it back to set on the floor next to her. 

I was so tired from pedaling all day that my hands were shaking. 

Reaching down, I tipped the bucket just a little too fast, and my foot slipped on the wet tile. Some of the hot water splashed onto her bare toes.

Odette shrieked as if I had poured boiling acid on her skin. She jumped up, kicking the plastic bucket hard. The rest of the water went everywhere, soaking the expensive rug and the floorboards.

"You idiot!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "You are trying to burn me on purpose!"

"I am so sorry, my foot slipped on the tile."

"Get on your knees and clean it up!" she yelled, pointing at the floor. "And do not you dare leave this room until every single drop is gone."

I dropped to my knees on the tile, still wearing my damp, milk-stained delivery clothes, and wiped the floor with a dirty rag while she sat back down, watching me like a hawk. 

After dinner, the doorbell rang. Important guests had arrived at the house. Odette welcomed them into the living room, but then she walked back into the kitchen and glared at me.

"Run down to the market and get some fresh fruit," she ordered. "We do not have enough for the guests."

I stood up slowly, feeling my knees ache from the tile. "Could you give me some money for it, Odette? I do not have any cash left. I gave my last twenty dollars to the hospital pharmacy this morning."

Odette let out a loud, mocking laugh. "You want me to give you money? A grown man asking his mother-in-law for fruit money? How pathetic are you?"

Just then, the heavy front door clicked open. Sloane walked inside, looking perfect in her sharp business suit. She heard her mother's words and immediately joined in the mockery without hesitation.

"Do you hear him, mother?" Sloane said, shaking her head with disgust. "My husband. A grown man, and he does not even have grocery money in his pocket to buy fruit."

The words felt like a physical smash. 

I stood there, looking at my wife, waiting for a single glint of the woman I loved. 

I walked into this conversation truly believing she loved me, believing she would support me when I was vulnerable. 

Instead, I was met with pure sarcasm and public humiliation. I felt deeply, fundamentally wounded. I thought back over our three years of marriage. 

For three whole years, I had given her my entire soul. Whenever her stomach ached, I spent hours cooking specific, soothing meals for her. 

Whenever it rained, I left my work and ran across the city just to bring an umbrella to her office doors. 

Wherever she was, whenever she needed a hand, I always showed up without a single complaint. 

But now, looking into her cold eyes, a devastating realization hit me. She did not care about any of it. She never cared about my devotion at all.

I turned to Sloane, my voice finally rising, heavy with heartbreak. 

"After we got married, in order to take care of your health, I personally prepared all three of your meals every single day. Even the grocery money came out of my own pocket. Have you ever spent a single cent on me?"

Sloane's expression changed slightly. For a second, she looked surprised, but then her face turned cold again. She mocked me right back. 

"In other families, the husband goes out to work and supports his wife. You should be grateful I am not asking you for money, yet you expect me to spend money on you?"

Without waiting for me to speak, Sloane turned her back to me and headed straight upstairs. 

I stood there, completely heartbroken. 

My family conditions were not good to begin with, but in the early days of our marriage when she wanted to start a business, I did not hesitate. 

Before our marriage, when she demanded that I invest one million dollars, I was completely out of my mind with love. 

I scraped together funds from every possible source, even selling the house my father had left me, just to come up with that million to invest in her company. 

Yet now, after achieving success and fame, this was how I was being mocked in return. I truly began to doubt whether all my sacrifices had been worth it.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was the incoming call screen from the hospital. I answered it quickly, my heart squeezing with fear.

"Mr. Kaelen?" the nurse said on the line. "Your mother’s condition has taken a turn for the worse. She needs an emergency procedure right away. We need an additional one million dollars for her medical expenses to keep her treatment going."

One million dollars. I felt a wave of complete despair wash over me. I went upstairs dejectedly, walking into our bedroom. Sloane was there, packing a large leather suitcase.

"Sloane, please," I pleaded, my voice breaking as I approached her. Despite everything, my pure faith made me believe she wouldn't let my mother die. I genuinely expected her to agree to help me now. "My mom's condition just got worse. The hospital needs another one million dollars for her medical expenses. I need your help."

Sloane scoffed loudly, not even pausing her packing. "I have already paid quite a bit of your mother’s medical expenses, Riven. Do not ask for any more money. If you want to apply for these expenses, go directly to my assistant. My time is very valuable. I do not have time to say all these unnecessary things to you."

At that moment, I felt my entire worldview completely collapse. The absolute finality of her rejection shattered my heart into pieces. I questioned whether those three years of complete devotion meant anything to her at all. She was casting my mother's life aside without a single second of thought.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest. "In the early days of your business, when your company had terrible financial problems, my mother sold all her valuable jewelry just to help you survive. Is this how you repay her?"

Sloane turned around, her face red with anger. "She did that voluntarily! I did not force her to sell anything."

She turned back around and continued packing her luggage. "And besides, I am moving out for a while. Lysander Croft just returned from abroad, and I need to accompany him to look around the city."

A hot wave of anger rushed through me, mixing with the deep heartbreak. Usually, whenever I asked Sloane to take a simple walk with me around the neighborhood, she would always refuse and say she was too tired or too busy for me. Yet now, she was perfectly willing to set aside important company matters just to go out and look around the city with Lysander Croft.

"I am planning to promote Lysander to manager of the company," Sloane added coldly, snapping her suitcase shut. "I am also giving him ten percent of the shares as an incentive for him to work hard."

My anger boiled over completely. 

Her company, Vespera Corp, was now generating fifty million dollars in annual revenue, with every division thriving. 

Yet I had never received a single cent or a position from her, despite giving everything because I loved her. Now, I felt like a complete joke. 

The sincerity I offered with an open heart had been trampled upon without a second thought, and worse, used by her to curry favor with another man.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, my voice shaking with absolute fury. "He saved you once, but didn't my mother help you too? What did you give her in return? You stood by and did nothing while she lay gravely ill!"

Sloane shot back, her voice sharp and cutting. "Vespera Corp is my company. I can divide the shares however I see fit. It has nothing to do with you."

A profound disappointment washed over me, chilling me to the bone.

Sloane’s eyes turned cold with warning as she glared at me. "Do you still want that surgery f*e for your mother? If you keep speaking to me like that, I won't give a single cent toward her treatment."

I looked at her, the final remnants of my hope fracturing. "Please, do not do that to her."

Sloane sneered at me, her expression full of absolute disdain. "A live-in son-in-law should know his place. Act like one, and maybe I'll consider covering your mother's medical bills."