It wasn’t real food.
It was yellowed, stale rice mixed with dried fish heads and sharp bones – something you wouldn’t serve to anyone.
I felt an icy chill throughout my entire body.
I sent money to my mother every month.
So why… was my wife eating that?
The silence that reigned in the kitchen was suffocating.
I looked at the bowl again, then at Lily.
“What is it…?” I asked softly.
She said nothing.
Her hands were trembling.
“Lily,” I said more firmly, “why are you eating that?”
She lowered her head. “It’s nothing… I was just hungry.”
Something broke inside me.
“Don’t lie to me!”
My voice resonated louder than I intended.
She flinched. The baby stirred in the other room, then fell silent again.
I took a breath.
“I send you money every month. There’s food here. My mother is supposed to take care of you. So why are you eating this?”
Lily pressed her lips together, then a tear finally fell.
“Because…” she murmured, “…that’s what they let me eat.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
She closed her eyes.
“Your mother says that after giving birth, I shouldn’t eat too much. She says that if I eat a lot, my milk will be ‘too strong’ for the baby.”
I had a memory lapse.
“So she saves the good food,” Lily continued softly. “She says it’s for you because you work hard… and for her too because she’s older.”
My throat tightened.
