Revenge for My Cat

My name is Stacy Xavier. I've been married to Cameron Green for three years, yet in the Green family, I live like a ghost. He rarely comes home. When he does, he stays in the study. The total number of words we've exchanged doesn't exceed a hundred. The closest family I have at home isn't my husband, but Ginger—the orange cat who has been by my side for ten years. I found Ginger during college. Then, it was no bigger than the palm of my hand, curled up by a trash bin behind campus, covered in mud and running a fever. I carried her back to the dorm, fed her warm water with a syringe, and took her to the vet in the middle of the night. The vet said she might not make it, but I didn't give up. Later, she grew into a plump ginger cat, with a white tip on her tail like it had been dusted with snow. On our wedding day, I said I wanted to bring Ginger along. Cameron Green frowned and said, "Whatever," his tone thick with impatience. But I brought Ginger anyway. Over these three years, she became my only solace. In the mornings, she'd sit by the bedroom door waiting for me to wake. When I came home from work, she'd leap off the sofa to rub against my ankles, letting out a soft, plush "meow." When I was down, she'd lie on my lap, rubbing my hands and purring so loudly it filled the room.