After the Typhoon
It rang five times with no answer, and the wind slamming against the window grew louder, like countless hands clawing at the glass. I gripped my phone tighter, my knuckles turning white.
Mom lives in an old house by the sea. Last year, the typhoon flooded right up to the doorstep, and the wooden wardrobe inside got soaked and covered in mold.
This time, they're forecasting the strongest typhoon in a decade, with tsunami warnings too. I couldn't stop worrying—I didn't even have time to button my jacket properly before rushing out.
I changed into a pair of non-slip sneakers and grabbed the emergency kit I had packed a long time ago—inside were Mom's usual blood pressure meds, a flashlight, and a few packs of compressed biscuits.
As I picked up the car keys, my fingers brushed against the jar of pickled radish Mom had brought yesterday—the glass cool, but still warm from her hands.
The trees along the road were bent crookedly by the wind, and a branch from an old locust tree suddenly snapped, crashing onto the roadside guardrail with a loud clang.
A plastic bag was wrapped around the branch like a tattered white flag, fluttering wildly in the wind. My hands gripping the steering wheel were slick with sweat.
I tried calling Tom Shawn again, but still no answer—only a monotonous busy signal in the receiver.
I had no choice but to call Mom first. As soon as the call connected, the howl of wind gusting through the window came through the line.
"Tina, you don't need to come pick me up. This house is sturdy—your dad built these walls himself back in the day."Mom laughed over the phone, but her voice trembled a little.
"No, I have to come get you. Let's go to the new house at Joy Residence. The land there is higher, and there's an underground garage—it's safer." I emphasized my words, pressing harder on the gas pedal as the rain outside began to slash against the window.
Joy Residence is the villa Tom Shawn and I bought in our second year of marriage.
From the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, you can see the artificial lake.
We had just finished renovations at the end of last year.
Tom deliberately picked a traditional style that Mom loved, saying, "Once spring arrives, we'll bring Mom here to live. She's sure to love it." But so far, no one has officially moved in.
Tom Shawn was the one overseeing all the renovations. I'd only been there twice, and each time he held my hand and pointed to the chandelier in the living room, saying, "It's crystal. It shines especially bright at night. Mom's eyesight isn't good, so this makes it easier for her to read."
At the time, I even teased him for being so meticulous, but looking back now, those words felt like needles, piercing painfully.
When I got downstairs to Mom's place, the door was slightly ajar. She was leaning against the doorframe, looking down the stairs, her hair wild and tousled by the wind.
She wore a camel-colored wool sweater—that birthday gift I bought her last year. In her hand was a cloth bag, the zipper left partly open, revealing half a knitted scarf I'd started for her.
"The wind's so strong, and you still came? The road's really dangerous."Mom held my hand—her palm warm but trembling slightly.
"You're my mom. If I don't come, then who else will?"I helped her put the cloth bag into the car, guided her into the front passenger seat, and turned the air conditioning up a couple of degrees.
As we drove toward Joy Residence, the rain kept getting heavier, and even the fastest wiper setting barely cleared the windshield.
Mom kept staring out the window, occasionally asking, "Is the new house far from here?" She reached into the cloth bag to touch the scarf and said, "Once this typhoon passes, I'll finish knitting it for you."
I smiled and said, "Not far, just twenty minutes," but inside, I was starting to panic—Tom Shawn still hadn't replied. He said he had to handle something urgent at the office this morning, but with such a powerful typhoon, the company should've closed ages ago.
In front of the main gate of Joy Residence, the security booth light was on. The guard was bent over, fixing a sign at the entrance, his raincoat hood flipped up by the wind.
I rolled down the car window. He looked up at the license plate, recognized my car, quickly raised his hand to let me through, and called out, "Ms. Lincoln, drive carefully—the roads inside are slippery."
"This neighborhood is really beautiful— even prettier than on TV."Mom's eyes brightened as she gazed at the greenery by the road. She reached out and pointed toward the artificial lake nearby. "Are there fish in that lake?"
"Yes. Once the typhoon passes, we'll bring some breadcrumbs to feed the fish and then wander through the garden. There are your favorite gardenias there, too."I said this as I drove toward the villa's building, but a heavy sense of unease was gnawing at me.
Just a few dozen meters from the villa, I spotted warm yellow lights glowing in the yard, with faint laughter drifting through the air, mixed with the smoky aroma of barbecue.
I frowned. Tom Shawn never said he'd be bringing friends over. He clearly knows we haven't officially moved into the house yet.
After parking the car, I helped Mom walk toward the yard. The closer we got, the clearer the laughter became, and someone shouted, "Vivian, grill two more skewers of chicken wings."
The iron gate to the yard was left ajar. I pushed it open, and my steps froze instantly, as if my blood had turned to ice.
A silver barbecue grill sat on the lawn, sparks leaping up and splattering onto the white sunshade nearby.
A group of young people were gathered nearby, laughing and chatting. Some were wearing my loungewear, others were swinging Tom Shawn's golf clubs around. Empty bottles and trash bags were scattered everywhere, and there was even a girl walking back and forth across the freshly laid wool carpet in my high heels.
Who are you people?I held back the fire burning inside me, my voice cold as ice. Mom gripped my hand tightly, her body stiffening slightly.
No sooner had I finished speaking than a woman in a red dress spun around and strode toward me in stiletto heels. The hem of her dress swept over the trash bags on the floor, which she kicked aside with disdain.
She had a delicate face and big eyes brimming with contempt, her nails painted a vivid red, like they were stained with blood.
She sized me and my mom up and down for a long moment, then suddenly sneered, her voice sharp: "Where do you think you're from? How dare you just barge into someone else's home? Didn't the property management ever teach you the rules—or are you here to steal?"
"This is my home," I said, gripping my mom's cold hand tightly and pointing at the door plaque. "Joy Residence, Building 12. The property deed bears both my name and Tom Shawn's—you can check for yourself."
"Tom Shawn?"The woman laughed like she'd just heard the funniest joke, covering her mouth for a long moment. "You must be dreaming. I'm Tom Shawn's fiancee, Vivian White. This house was specially given to me by him—who do you think you are?"
I hesitated for a second; the name Vivian White sounded familiar.
Six months ago, she joined the Glory Group's CEO office as Tom Shawn's assistant. Back then, Ms. Carter from HR even warned me, 'There's something off about how this girl looks at Mr. Shawn—you better watch out.'
I asked Tom Shawn, and he said, "She's just an ordinary subordinate, does her job okay, but talks too much." Not long after, he told me, "Fire her. There are always rumors going around; it's bad for us." I actually believed him at the time.
"fiancee?"Mom was stunned but quickly stepped forward angrily. "How can you talk like that? Tina is Tom's legally wedded wife. This is their home. You'd better take your people and leave—don't make a scene here!"
Vivian White's face instantly darkened. Before Mom could finish, she raised her hand and slapped her.
The sharp "smack" rang out, chillingly crisp and painfully loud over the roar of wind and rain.
Mom staggered, clutching her cheek as she took two steps back. Tears sprang instantly, slipping down her wrinkled face.
I quickly supported Mom, my anger exploding like a wildfire inside me. "Vivian White! How dare you hit my mom? Do you even know what you're doing?"
"So what if I did?"Vivian White flicked her hand dismissively, like brushing off something filthy. "An old fool who doesn't know her place dares to cause trouble in my house? Serves her right! I'm telling you, even if Tom Shawn shows up today, he'll be on my side!"
Mom has never been treated this unfairly in her entire life.
My father-in-law passed away early, and she raised Tom Shawn all by herself. She worked in a factory during the day and sewed clothes at night to help make ends meet. Her hands were covered in calluses.
After she came with me, I never let her suffer any injustice, not even once did I say a harsh word to her.
She covered her face, trembling violently. Her lips moved as if she wanted to speak, but she was so overwhelmed she couldn't make a sound.
"Get lost, or I'll unleash my dogs on you. If they bite you, don't come blaming me."Vivian White let out a sharp whistle, her eyes blazing with menace.
From the corner of the villa, a huge black wolfdog suddenly lunged out, nearly half the height of a person, baring its teeth with drool dripping from its mouth as it barked fiercely at me and Mom.
Mom turned deadly pale, clutching my arm so tightly her nails dug into my flesh, her voice shaking uncontrollably: "Tina... I'm scared... please don't come near..."
I knew Mom was terrified of dogs—when she was little, the big yellow dog next door bit her leg, leaving a long scar. Ever since then, just the sight of a dog made her tremble all over.
"Vivian White! Take the dog away! My mom has a heart condition, so don't scare her!" I stood in front of my mother, staring at the wolfdog, my palms sweaty but my back cold as ice.
Vivian White just smiled even more smugly, lifting her chin at the wolfdog, her voice light but dripping with venom: "Go on, drive them out. Don't let them get in the way."
The wolfdog let out a fierce howl and lunged toward us, the stench of blood thick in the wind.
I quickly pulled my mother behind me, but the wolfdog was too fast and bit her arm, its teeth tearing through her wool sweater, blood instantly oozing out.
"Ah!" Mom cried out in pain, her voice hoarse as she went limp in my arms. Blood from her arm trickled down my clothes, sending a wave of panic through me.
Then, suddenly, Mom clutched her chest, her eyes wide with fear, her body convulsing violently, her face slowly turning a bluish-purple.
"Mom! Mom, what's wrong? Don't scare me!" I panicked, quickly wrapping my arms around her, fumbling to press the spot above her upper lip. "Vivian White! Get the dog away! My mom has a heart condition! Call an ambulance right now!"
But Vivian White just stood there with her arms crossed, watching like it was some kind of show, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "You're faking it, aren't you? Trying to scam me? I've seen people like you use the elderly to con others—it's disgusting."
The wolfdog kept barking wildly, then suddenly lunged at me again, biting into my leg.
The stabbing pain hit me like a knife cutting through my flesh, but I couldn't think about myself. I just kept shouting, "Mom," tears blending with the rain as they streamed down my cheeks.
Nearby, Vivian White's friends were finally starting to panic. A boy with glasses tugged at Vivian's arm: "Vivian, something's really wrong. Her face is turning purple. If someone dies, we won't be able to handle it."
Another girl said, "Forget it, just kick them out. Don't let this turn into a real disaster."
But Vivian White impatiently pulled out a few hundred dollars from her bag and slapped it down in front of me. The money scattered in the wind: "Here's some cash, now get lost fast. Don't bring bad luck here. This should be enough for hospital bandages."
Her friends rushed over, all hands on deck, pushing Mom and me out of the yard.
I supported Mom, feeling her body grow heavier and her breaths weaker, like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to go out at any moment.
I quickly pulled out my phone to call 120, but my fingers trembled so badly I couldn't press the numbers correctly.
"Hello... 120? Joy Residence, Building 12—someone's been bitten by a dog and is convulsing... please hurry..." Before I could finish, Vivian White snatched the phone from me, slammed it onto the ground with a harsh crack, and the screen instantly shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.
Still not satisfied, she stomped hard on it a few more times, the sole of her shoe crushing the phone with a harsh crunch: "Don't bother wasting your effort. Even if the ambulance comes, it won't save this old bastard. Better off dead, so we don't have to be extorted here."
They pushed me outside the yard; Mom was leaning against me, her eyes already closed, lips dark purple, and no breath stirring.
I knelt on the cold, rain-soaked ground, performing CPR on Mom, breath after breath, my arms shaking, but her chest never rose again.
By the time the ambulance arrived, the rain had already eased up a bit.
The doctor crouched down to examine her, shook his head, and said quietly, "She's gone. It's an acute heart attack—probably triggered by severe shock."
I sat on the ground, staring at Mom's lifeless face, tears streaming like broken pearls, unstoppable. My throat felt like it was stuffed with a stone—I couldn't even cry out.
Vivian White and her friend stood at the yard's gate, umbrellas in hand, looking at me with eyes that held no guilt—only pure disdain.
Vivian White frowned, pulled out a thick stack of bills from her bag, and tossed them beside my mother, as if shooing away a beggar. "Here's a few ten-thousand dollar notes. Take the corpse away—don't block the way here. Otherwise, I'll have Tom Shawn deal with you."
I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms, bleeding, mixed with the rain and impossible to tell which was which. "Vivian White, you killed my mother. I won't let you get away with this. I swear I'll make you pay."
"'Let me go,' you say?"Vivian White laughed, then slapped me again—harder than before. My cheek burned with pain, and my ears were buzzing. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I'm the fiancee of the Glory Group's CEO. Even if Tom comes, he'll have to protect me. Believe it or not, I'll make sure he drives you out of this city."
"Tom Shawn..." I looked at her and suddenly felt ridiculous, laughing until tears welled up, "The Tom Shawn you're talking about is my husband, my legally wedded husband."
Vivian White's friends all laughed; some covered their mouths, giggling, "Is this woman crazy? She must be delusional, dreaming of marrying into a wealthy family!"
Others said, "Exactly, just look at herself—so filthy and dirty. How could Mr. Shawn ever be interested in her?"
Vivian White kicked me hard in the stomach. I curled up on the ground in pain, my stomach churning like a storm, almost vomiting: "Crazy woman! How dare you pretend to be Tom Shawn's wife? Today, I'll make you regret it and ensure you never speak nonsense again!"
Just then, Leader Clark, the head of security, came running over with a few guards. Their raincoats were covered in mud.
I clung to that lifeline like my life depended on it, quickly pushing myself up and shouting, "Leader Clark! You know me, right? I'm Tina Lincoln, and this is my home with Tom Shawn! They broke in and even set their dogs on us—my mom was hurt because of them! Please help me call the police!"
Leader Clark had met Tom and me before. When we first bought the villa, he followed us with a smile, patting his chest and saying, "Ms. Lincoln, don't worry. From now on, your family's affairs are my affairs. I'll make sure everything is taken care of."
But he didn't even look at me. He walked straight up to Vivian White, bowed respectfully, and said with a flattering tone, "Ms. White, is something wrong? Has someone bothered you?"
"Ms. White?"I froze, as if poured a bucket of ice water on, chilling me from head to toe. "Leader Clark, you've got the wrong person. She's not the owner here—I am! Look at the door plate, the property certificate—I can show you!"
"Ms. Lincoln?"Leader Clark finally looked at me, but his eyes were cold as ice. "Why did you barge into Ms. White's home without permission and cause a scene? I think you must be mistaken. Building 12 has long been entrusted by Mr. Shawn to Ms. White for management."
Vivian White proudly linked her arm with Leader Clark's, her fingers brushing against his security uniform. "Leader Clark, you really understand the situation. That mother and daughter tried to steal something, and when I caught them, they still refused to admit it. They even accused me of letting the dogs bite them. Look, there's a corpse lying right outside my door—so unlucky. Hurry up and get them out of here."
Leader Clark nodded and said to the security guards behind him, "Take this woman to the security office. Keep a close watch—don't let her cause any more trouble. And move the corpse at the door next to the security office, so it doesn't disturb the other residents."
The security guard tried to pull me away, and I struggled, scratching one of them on the arm with my nails. "You can't do this! I'm Tom Shawn's wife! Check the surveillance! The cameras at the entrance will prove I came with my mom! You can't falsely accuse me!"
But no one listened. They dragged me to the security office like I was trash, threw me onto the cold concrete floor, slammed the door shut with a crash, and locked it from the outside.
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