Chapter 3

Artie’s toys had all been made by both his grandfathers.

His clothes were always mended with patches whenever they tore.

Even when I suggested buying him one of those navy-striped shirts every child in the military compound seemed to own, Artie would shake his head vigorously.

“Mom, I’ve still got clothes to wear. Dad works so hard to earn money. I don’t want a new one.”

It wasn’t until this year, when he was finally about to start school, that he came to me with his face flushed and whispered, “Mom, on my first day of school, can I wear a new shirt without any patches?”

The memory made the corners of my lips curl into a faint smile.

At the same time, a tear fell onto the needle and thread in my hands.

I quickly wiped it away and kept on sewing.

I owed this much to Artie. I simply must make it for him.

At eight o’clock that evening, Logan finally came home.

He was wearing the military uniform that was Artie’s favorite. He was carrying a pink floral-patterned tote bag.

Upon seeing me, he casually tossed the bag into my arms and instructed, “These clothes piled up while Jenny was in the hospital. Wash them for her tonight.

“Her skin’s delicate. She can’t do heavy chores like this.”

I almost laughed, amused at why he was so considerate of his first love yet expected me, his wife, to shoulder the burden.

Just as I was about to refuse, Logan spoke again.

“Where’s Artie? Isn’t he home?”

He glanced around the unnaturally quiet house, puzzled.

My fingers holding the sewing needle turned pale.

I was searching for an excuse when he ordered again, “Since Artie’s not here, go and pack a few of his clothes for me to take to Jenny.

“She has just returned from Anngreen with her kid and doesn’t have enough changes of clothes, so she can borrow Artie’s for the time being.”

Seeing that I hadn’t responded, Logan clicked his tongue and walked straight into our son’s room.

He brought out every neatly folded piece of clothing.

As he sorted through them, he frowned at each one.

“This isn’t new enough.

“This fabric’s too rough.

“And this one, why are there so many patches?”

…

All the clothes he’d never spared a second glance at now suddenly had flaws everywhere he looked.

None of them was good enough for Jenny’s child.

It felt as though my heart had been torn open. Instinctively, I hid the unfinished garment behind my back.

This didn’t escape the man’s notice.

“You made our son a new outfit? Let me see.”

Before I could react, he forcefully snatched it from my hands.

The needle tip scraped across my palm, leaving a thin, bloody cut.

I gasped from the sting.

Logan, however, was already grinning from ear to ear.

“This is nice! Jenny and the kid will certainly love it!”

“No!”

I cried out and lunged forward, shoving him away with all my might.

“I made this for Artie. You can’t take it!”

Logan staggered a step back, his expression turning grim in an instant.

“It’s just a piece of clothing, isn’t it? It’s not like it’s anything special. Why are you being so petty!”

I reached for it again, but the man finally snapped. He pulled two bills from his pocket and flung them onto the floor.

“Treat it as if I’m buying it from you, all right? Now get out of my way!

“If you try to take it back again, I’ll tear it, and no one will be able to wear it!”

Seeing he wasn’t bluffing, I slowly clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white.

After a long silence, I opened the drawer and took out the application for cremation.

“I’m taking Artie back to our hometown in a few days. Please sign this letter of authorization.”