My Mother’s Name is Margarette

My Mother’s Name is MargaretteChapter 1

My boyfriend was someone I found on the streets—lost, down on his luck, and pitiful, much like an abandoned dog. While I struggled with my heart condition, working hard just to make ends meet, he lived a carefree life.

But things changed one day when I was working part-time as a waitress in a five-star hotel. There, standing in a high-end suit, was Ezail, staring at me in disbelief.

“Ezail, aren’t you supposed to be at home?” I asked, glancing at his neatly pressed suit. He fit right in with the luxury of the hotel, while I stood there in a shabby uniform, stained with red wine from a difficult customer earlier.

Just an hour ago, he had told me to come back for dinner, and now here he was, looking like someone completely out of my reach.

“Marla, let me explain. My friend brought me here…” Ezail, clearly flustered, reached for my hand, giving it a small shake—the signal we used when asking for forgiveness. But this time, after the initial shock, I pulled away. The sight of him in the suit I’d promised to buy him, wearing the tie I’d saved up for, was a slap in the face.

“Friend? Didn’t you say you had amnesia? Where did all these friends come from?” I questioned, my heart sinking as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. The truth was obvious—he had been lying to me all along.

“Mr. Ford, was faking amnesia fun for you? Did watching me run in circles around you make you proud? Should I give you an Oscar?” I let out a bitter laugh. The boy I had picked up from the streets, the one who played innocent in front of me, was actually the heir to the powerful Ford family.

“To you, I must have been the biggest fool” As I spoke, tears blurred my vision.

The cruel irony was too much to bear. My phone buzzed with a delivery notification for a cake I had ordered for his birthday, which he had told me was today. I had worked extra hours and endured rude customers to celebrate his first birthday with me. But now, my efforts seemed worthless.

Whenever I came home exhausted, Ezail always made sure to leave a light on for me and set the table with food, telling me that cooking for me was his greatest joy. He claimed I was the most important person in his life.