Remarry My Ex-wife: First and Forever Love.

"You should sign." Vincent says with ease as he hands me a blue pen over the poor excuse of a 'bed in breakfast' he set up. I can humour his attempt at making pancakes by eating them despite them being undercooked, but the attempt at wooing me seems attached to a ridiculous document. The more I skim it, the more the grease used to make the pancake rises up my throat. I can't believe this. "What?" I ask, just to make sure he is aware of what he is asking. "Sign the documents. The doctors will only take a small piece of your liver and give it to my mother.

It's a perfectly safe solution." I know his mother has a liver issue, and a few weeks ago, we all tested out of formality to see who a perfect match would be to donate. Still, she is the same woman who slapped me because I 'oversalted' her son's food even though Vincent said it was fine-forgive me if my liver testing was more out of 'peer pressure' than the genuine interest to help her. "You said you would help." Vincent reminds me when my hesitation grows. Instead of answering, I push my makeshift breakfast table aside and slip out of my sheets. I don't have the heart to tell him I despise his mother to the point of (maybe-definitely) wanting her to die, so I take a deep breath and instead open the curtains. "Livy!"' Vincent commands, so I turn to answer him. "Vincent, I took the test alongside your family. There is no way both you and your sister aren't a match." Mia is a mother; she has children to take care of; even mum doesn't want to inconvenience Mia's family." "But she is fine inconveniencing your family?" "Did you just call my mother an inconvenience?" He asks with a sneer that forces me to retract my anger. "No.... I- Look, Vincent, I want kids too; you are the one who isn't ready!" "That's not the point; Mia has kids now, so she can't do the surgery. I mean, who would take care of them? You? Of course not; as for me, I work and provide for both you and mother, so just do it. This is an emergency;how can you be so selfish; it's not like you have a job or anything that's keeping you from donating to help your mother-in- law." I hate the lump filling my chest, ascertaining that I cannot breathe over it; I hate even more that I am accustomed to this feeling. "Vincent, I stay at home because you don't want me working. You want me taking care of your mother twenty-four hours a day, the same mother who is still trying to set you up with half the females in your workplace!I-" "God, you are vindictive! That was one time and nothing happened. You cannot punish her because of something she did in ignorance." He defends in a boisterous tone that drowns out my sigh. "See, that's the thing; she knows exactly what she is doing. Do you know how often she rubs it in that I depend on you financially? You asked me to quit so that I can take care of her, yet-" "I'll pay for the surgery; you can tell her that you found a part-time job and made it possible to-» It's like speaking to a brick wall. "That's not the iss-" I begin my retort, but his eyes turn to the door. "Vincent! Honey!" My mother-in-law's call sounds from across the hall; he must have heard her door open, so his concentration on the topic dwindled. Our house is small, but Vincent wanted her to live with us because we did not have kids yet. I want kids. "Mother is up; I'll go see what she wants; you make her breakfast." "Wait, that's it? Don't you have something else to say to me?" "I will not apologise, Olivia, you are being selfish, and on that note, Mother wanted to go to the market in the afternoon before her dialysis; drive her there and keep her company; she is frail, so ensure she wears her jacket." He utters before turning away from me to exit his room to meet his mother, but that wasn't what I wanted him to say. "just. a simple 'happy anniversary' would have been..." I clamp my mouth shut, hoping that act would at least diminish the tears I restrict from flowing, yet still, my vision swims in unshed tears. I guess he forgot this year as well. Sometimes I feel more like a maid than "Mrs James', but there are many shades of him. He is simply in a bad mood; I excuse before turning my gaze to the greasy and undercooked pancakes; the effort to make them no longer feels cute. "Do you think I am being selfish for wanting to keep my organs intact?" I pose the question to Natasha, my best friend from university, as I stare at the onions that I have already loaded up on just to stall for time so that I do not have to be near my mother-in-law in the supermarket. "A little." "A little? Tasha?"I call, hoping she reconsiders her answer. "I mean, look at it this way: you love Vincent." She reminds me calmly through the phone; I can hear a door close on her end and some water run. "I do." "Losing his mum to a liver disease when you could help keep her alive would break him; I mean, no offence, but your husband is a 'mama's boy'." "That he is. But I don't see how that is my responsibility; both he and his sister Mia are a match." "But he is the breadwinner, and Mia is a mother. You aren't....I mean, I don't mean for this to come out wrongly, but you don't do much aside from acting as eye candy during his work meetings-" A sigh leaves my lips before I hang up the phone. Despite her personality and her criticisms of how I do the bare minimum, even though I do chores that make me feel as if I am an unpaid maid, she is still my friend. "Fuck." A hard hand crashes against my back as the curse slips from my lips.