After I Let Him Be With His First Love
At the memorial, his former students filled the funeral hall, weeping as they said he was a rare, good teacher—kind-hearted and of upright character.
I stood in the corner, looking at those faces, both strange and familiar, feeling my throat tighten.
After the crowd had scattered, I returned to the old house where we had lived for thirty years, ready to sort through his study.
On the bottom shelf of the bookcase, there was a dusty tin box—something he never let me touch.
I found a screwdriver and pried open the rusty lock.
Inside, there were no valuables, only a stack of unsent letters.
I picked up the top letter; the paper was yellowed, but the writing remained clear: "If I could go back twenty years, I would never have married a supermarket cashier just to save a few years of tuition fees."
My heart felt as if gripped by a hand, the pain leaving me breathless.
In another letter, it read: "Mary Scott is the one I want to spend my life with. We both love literature and understand art, yet I ended up marrying a woman who can't even read a poetry collection."
A photo slipped out of the envelope—it was Yale Clark's college graduation picture.
In the photo, standing beside him was Mary, wearing a white dress, her smile bending her eyes into crescent moons—that was the "first love" he mentioned countless times.
At the bottom of the tin box, I found an old phone—one he had never used in front of me.
With trembling hands, I entered Mary's birthday—that was the date he secretly kept in mind every year.
The screen lit up, and the photo album was filled with pictures of them together.
There was also a property deed with both their names on it, the address overseas.
Suddenly, I remembered our thirtieth wedding anniversary.
I had prepared a table full of his favorite dishes and raised my glass, saying, "Thank you for being with me."
But he frowned and pushed my hand away, saying, "Don't bother with these empty things."
It turned out that back then, he had long since built another home with Mary Scott.
It turned out my thirty years of sacrifice was, in his eyes, just the self-delusion of a "crude cashier."
My vision went dark, and I crashed heavily to the ground.
When I opened my eyes again, the 'beep beep' of the supermarket checkout scanner filled my ears, along with Ms. Ruby's voice calling, "Tina Lincoln, what are you standing there for? Yale Clark is still waiting for you at the door!"
I looked down, clutching a resignation letter in one hand and an envelope—inside was my salary for the month, all set aside to pay Yale's tuition.
The calendar on the wall showed it was the summer of twenty years ago.
I took a deep breath and stepped out to the supermarket entrance.
Yale Clark wore a shirt faded from too many washes, a hopeful smile lighting his face: "Tina, did you hand in your resignation letter? Did you bring the salary? I'll be reporting to school next week."
I tore the resignation letter into pieces right in front of him.
The paper scraps drifted down at his feet like broken memories.
"As for this tuition, it’s none of my business." I looked at his stunned face and spoke slowly, word by word, "Yale Clark, we're breaking up."
The smile on his face vanished instantly, his eyes wide with disbelief: "What did you say? Don't joke with me!"
"I'm not joking." I shoved the envelope containing my salary into my pocket. "Your future has nothing to do with me anymore."
He stepped forward to grab my hand, but I slipped away.
"Tina Lincoln! Are you crazy?" His voice rose, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. "It wasn't easy for me to get into college! Didn't you say you'd always support me? Have you forgotten how you promised me back then?"
In my past life, I was bound by his so-called "support" for thirty years.
I gave up a promotion to supermarket manager, passed on a training opportunity at headquarters, scrimped and saved to put him through school—only to be met with the word "crude" in return.
"I was blind back then. Now I see clearly," he said. I said coldly, "I will never stake my life on you again."
After saying that, I turned and walked into the supermarket.
Behind me came his furious, desperate shout: "Tina Lincoln! You'll regret this! You're just an uneducated cashier; without me, you're nothing!"
I didn't look back.
The supermarket's glass door shut behind me, cutting off his voice—and severing the miserable first half of my life.
Regret? What I regret most is not seeing his true face twenty years ago.
But now, there's still time to set things right.
Just as I returned to the snack aisle, Ms. Ruby came over, lowering her voice to ask, "Tina, have you really broken up with Yale Clark?"
I nodded, picked up the crooked bag of chips from the shelf, and straightened it.
"We broke up."
"Oh my God!" Ms. Ruby's voice rose, then quickly hushed. "How?"
A few coworkers tidying shelves nearby looked over, their eyes a mix of sympathy, mockery, and schadenfreude.
In their eyes, giving up Yale Clark meant giving up the chance to climb the social ladder.
I didn't explain; some things, even when spoken, no one understands.
"Tina Lincoln, you didn't quit your job?" Store manager Mr. Warren came over, and when he saw me standing by the shelves, his face lit up with surprise.
"Mr. Warren, I won’t quit."
"That's fantastic!" Mr. Warren slapped his thigh. "I told you, you're the most meticulous cashier in our supermarket. You even snagged the Service Star last month. It's such a pity if you go!"
"Keep working hard, and by the end of the year, I'll apply to headquarters to get you promoted to team leader!"
Mr. Warren's words flowed into my heart like a warm current.
In my past life, Yale Clark said, “A woman doesn't need to work so much; just take care of me at home,” so I actually quit my job, stayed home washing clothes and cooking, becoming nothing more than an appendage to him.
I looked at the scanner in my hand—these hands can scan payments, organize shelves, and earn money to support myself.
Why should I give all this up for a man?
After work, I went to the bank on the corner.
Looking at the 380 dollars in my passbook, my eyes grew misty.
This was the money I saved for three months, eating only a steamed bun at noon and noodles at night—just to gather Yale Clark's tuition fee.
In my past life, when I handed him this money, he took the envelope, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but no gratitude in his eyes—only impatience.
This time, this money—I'm going to use it to pave my own path.
Leaving the bank, I noticed a sign hanging outside the bookstore: "College Entrance Exam Intensive Class—Limited Spots Available."
My heart suddenly skipped a beat.
In my last life, because I lacked education, I could only do the lowest jobs and spent a lifetime being looked down on by Yale Clark.
This time, I'm going to take the college entrance exam; I want to change my fate through knowledge.
I walked into the bookstore, enrolled in the College Entrance Exam Intensive Night School, and paid the hundred-dollar registration fee.
By the time I stepped out of the bookstore, night had fallen; street lamps glowed warmly, casting golden light on the ground.
I know, my life has to start over from today.
The next afternoon, I was at the checkout counter when a colleague called out, "Tina, someone's here to see you!"
I looked up and saw Yale Clark standing at the supermarket entrance, with a woman beside him.
It was Mary Scott.
She wore a white dress, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, a gentle smile on her face—like the heroine from a TV drama.
The colleagues nearby glanced over, whispering, "So this is Yale's first love? She's really beautiful."
"Definitely more beautiful than Tina. No wonder Yale doesn't like Tina."
Mary Scott walked up to me, smiling as she said, "Tina, I'm Mary Scott. I heard you and Yale are having a falling out, so I came specially to talk to you."
She reached out to take my hand, her tone thick with so-called "kindness."
"Yale really cares about you. He's about to start university soon, with a bright future ahead. Don't ruin his whole life over a moment of stubbornness."
Every word she spoke was a reminder: I was just an uneducated cashier, not good enough for a university student like Yale Clark.
The colleagues around nodded in agreement: "Mary's right, Tina, don't be so stubborn."
I looked at Mary Scott's smiling face and suddenly remembered the photo I had seen on Yale Clark's phone in my past life.
In the photo, Mary was holding Yale's neck, her smile bold and proud—nowhere near the 'gentle' facade she shows today.
I smiled and said, looking at her dress, "Miss Scott, your dress is really beautiful."
Mary's smile grew even sweeter: "Thank you, Yale bought it for me."
She deliberately stressed the words "Yale bought it for me."
I nodded, my eyes landing on her white canvas shoes. "I just wonder—if you step into the mud, would it get so dirty it couldn't be washed off?"
The smile on Mary Scott's face froze instantly; her complexion drained of color.
"Tina! What do you mean by that?" Yale Clark immediately stepped in front of Mary, glaring at me with fury. "If you're angry with me, take it out on me. Don't target Mary!"
Mary tugged at Yale's arm, her eyes welling with tears. "Yale, don't be mad. Tina didn't mean it..."
Her delicate, vulnerable act immediately stirred Yale's protective instincts and drew sympathetic looks from the other men around us.
"Tina Lincoln, just look at you!" Yale Clark pointed at me, his voice growing louder. "Mary kindly came to talk to you, and you answer with sarcasm! Can't you be more like Mary—more sensible?"
"I'm telling you, if it weren't for your money, I would have left you long ago!"
"Now that Mary's family is willing to support me through college, who do you think you are?"
His words were like knives twisting in my heart.
But I didn't cry; instead, I felt a strange relief—finally, he had spoken his true feelings.
The room fell silent in an instant. My colleagues froze. Those who had just been defending Yale Clark now looked at him with contempt.
Mary Scott's face went pale too; she probably never expected Yale Clark to say such blunt words in public, tearing their 'deep affection' mask to shreds.
I looked at Yale Clark and said coldly, “Thank you for finally telling the truth.”
Then I turned to my colleagues around me and gave a slight bow: “Thank you all as well, for helping me see this person clearly.”
I looked back at Yale Clark, enunciating each word: “By the way, that 380 dollars—I never planned to give it to you.”
Yale Clark sneered, “What? Regret it now? Want to save it to buy yourself steamed buns?”
I laughed, brighter than the sunlight: "No, I used it to pay for the College Entrance Exam Intensive Class."
"Yale Clark, see you at the college entrance exam."
The supermarket entrance fell completely silent; even the sound of the wind could be heard.
Yale Clark's eyes were wide open, his mouth agape as if someone had choked him—no words came out.
His gaze shifted from shock to suspicion, and finally to panic.
He probably finally realized that he lost not just tuition fees, but someone he could manipulate at will—someone who bore all burdens without complaint.
As for me, this 'uneducated cashier' in his eyes, I had already slipped beyond his control.
"Tina Lincoln is going to take the college entrance exam?"
"She hasn't even graduated from junior high, right?"
"No matter what, what Yale Clark said just now was utterly shameless! I actually thought he was a decent man!"
"Exactly! Living off others and still acting so arrogantly—it's disgusting!"
The murmurs around me grew louder; the tide of opinion had completely turned.
Yale Clark's face flushed crimson; he grabbed Mary Scott's hand and walked away without looking back.
When Mary Scott left, she glanced back at me, her eyes filled with venomous resentment.
"Tina, you're incredible!" Ms. Ruby rushed over and patted my shoulder. "You are so brave."
I smiled, and the last shadow lingering in my heart finally lifted.
From that day on, my life became overwhelmingly busy.
During the day, I worked diligently at the supermarket—scanning items, checking out customers, and stocking shelves—always achieving the highest sales.
At night, I attended Night School, starting from junior high-level math and language.
The Night School classroom was tiny, with about a dozen of us squeezed into one room, the lighting dim, but everyone intensely focused.
I sat in the very last row, clutching my notebook, jotting down every bit of knowledge. Whenever I didn't understand something, I'd catch the teacher after class to ask.
The teachers all said I was the most hardworking student—always the first to arrive and the last to leave each day.
In my past life, I devoted all my time to Yale Clark.
In this life, I'm going to spend my time on myself.
The whispers in the supermarket never stopped.
Some said I was out of my league and would never pass the college entrance exam.
Others said I was just trying to spite Yale Clark—and that once my anger faded, I'd give up.
I never cared about those words—what others think has nothing to do with me.
All I knew was that I had to seize this chance and fight for a future of my own.
Days went by, and soon it was time for the first monthly exam at night school.
Just as I was focused on preparing for the exam, a conspiracy against me quietly unfolded.
The afternoon before the monthly exam, Mr. Warren suddenly called me into his office.
Inside the office stood two men in security uniforms—staff from the supermarket headquarters' Security Department.
My heart skipped a beat; a bad premonition took hold.
"Tina Lincoln, someone reported that you stole imported chocolate from the supermarket to sell for money." The man from the Security Department spoke, his tone icy cold.
Stealing? I was stunned.
"I didn't!" I immediately protested. "I go straight to night school after work every day, and I've never touched the chocolates on the shelves!"
"Whether you did or not isn't for you to decide." Another man scoffed coldly, "Someone saw you yesterday after work taking a box of chocolates from the Snack Section and stuffing it into your bag."
"We've already checked; the Snack Section is indeed short one box of imported chocolate. Tina Lincoln, you'd better confess honestly!"
My mind was racing.
After work yesterday, I clearly left directly—I never even went to the Snack Section.
This is obviously a setup!
Besides Yale Clark and Mary Scott, I can't think of anyone else who would do this.
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