Chapter 479
Old Man Walter Wallace was seething with anger.
His wife had gone to the city to help with their daughter-in-law's postpartum care and hadn't returned. Over the phone, she'd gushed about Luna giving birth to a healthy baby girl, her voice dripping with delight as if she'd won the lottery.
"Tch! What's so special about a girl?" Walter spat bitterly.
His eldest son was so accomplished—successful, capable—so why had he married a divorcee? And now, they couldn't even produce a grandson. That foolish wife of his was happily playing nursemaid in the city while he was left alone at home.
No warm meals, no company—just a cold stove and an empty house.
The more Walter thought about it, the angrier he became. Snatching up a broom, he stormed toward the pigpen. The pigs, hearing his approach, grunted and shuffled closer.
"What're you staring at?" Walter smacked the fence with the broom. "Even you lot think you can laugh at me?"
The pigs scattered in fright.
His second son had returned from the city last year, acting like he'd been possessed, dead set on starting a business. Walter had beaten him, cursed him—but the brat had just packed up and moved to town with his wife and kids.
Last month, during the market day, Walter had spotted his second son's shop from afar. The glass display windows gleamed, filled with colorful modern clothes. Young women and housewives streamed in and out, while his son and daughter-in-law bustled about, barely able to keep up.
Walter had hidden in an alley across the street, watching for ages—but he hadn't dared step inside.
"Ungrateful wretch!" he muttered, squatting on his doorstep and puffing furiously on his pipe, the bowl clacking loudly with each agitated tap.
His third son was at least obedient, always keeping his head down and working. But the fool couldn’t even tell when the pigs were sick—only speaking up when they stopped eating. Last winter, he’d nearly lost an entire pen of pigs, sending Walter into a rage.
Now, with the New Year approaching, the pigs were fattened and ready for market—but Walter felt no joy.
"It's all that vixen's fault!" he hissed through gritted teeth.
If Luna hadn’t seduced his son, would his eldest have abandoned the family business to play stepfather in the city? Now, his eldest was living large in the city, his second thriving in town—and here he was, an old man left to rot in a crumbling house.
The bitterness gnawed at him. Grabbing a bottle of cheap liquor, he took a deep swig. The harsh burn made him cough violently, tears and snot streaking his face.
The pigs started grunting again, as if mocking him.
"Shut up!" Walter hurled the bottle at them. It shattered, glass shards spraying across the ground. Staggering to his feet, he kicked over the feeding trough.
Dusk settled in, cold wind whipping dried leaves into spirals. Slumping onto the doorstep, Walter stared at the empty yard—his heart just as hollow.
In the distance, firecrackers popped—someone celebrating a happy occasion. Walter pulled out a rock-hard steamed bun his wife had left behind and took a savage bite. His teeth ached from the force.