The Invisible Mother: No More Sacrifices

After a day of shopping, my daughter came home with bags and bags, saying she had bought New Year's outfits for the whole family.

She first shook out a suit she'd bought at a luxury-brand counter, her eyes curving into crescents as she looked at her husband.

"Honey, thank you for your silent dedication all this time, for making sure I never have to worry about food or clothing. You're my strongest support. I hope you rise higher and higher in the coming year."

Next, she planted a kiss on my little grandson's forehead and placed a tiger-head hat adorned with a gold pendant on his head.

"My precious darling, thank you for growing up another year healthy and happy, never giving your mom too much to worry about."

When her gaze turned to her father, tears were already welling in the corners of her eyes:

"To give birth is desire, to raise is responsibility, but to lift up is grace. Thank you, Dad, for making my life so carefree."

As she spoke, she pulled a glossy, smooth fur coat out of an exquisite shopping bag and held it out for her father to try on.

The whole family was immersed in the joy of trying on new clothes, and I looked at my daughter with full anticipation.

Yet she just reluctantly pulled a plastic bag out of the shoe cabinet and casually tossed it to me.

I hesitated before opening it; it turned out to be an apron from a hot pot restaurant.

I was stunned.

But my daughter spoke mercilessly:

"Mom, lucky for you, this apron covers up your shame, otherwise you'd be a blatant parasite."

I stood frozen, wondering if my ears had deceived me.

"Tina, what do you mean by that?"

Tina sneered:

"Three hundred sixty-five days a year, you're wrapped in that shabby apron for at least three hundred sixty-four of them, as if you're afraid people won't know how 'hard' you work! But what's so hard about it? There's a dishwasher for the dishes, a robot for the floors—what heavy work is even left for you at home?"

"When you were young, Dad supported you; now I support you. Calling you a parasite is even giving you too much credit!"

Hearing this, I trembled all over.

"Tina, to help you take care of the kids, I haven't had a single good night's sleep in five years. I do the laundry, I cook the meals, I handle all the big and small matters at home so you don't have to worry..."

"Helen Hale!" Tina suddenly cut me off. "Are you serious? You keep bragging about this trivial crap every day. You live in my house—isn't it only right that you do some things?"

A lump caught in my chest, and I almost couldn't breathe.

Tina is my only daughter. After graduation, she insisted on marrying that good-for-nothing son-in-law. My in-laws doted on their youngest son and gave them neither money nor help.

I felt sorry for her suffering, so I took out my life's savings and bought this wedding house for them.

When she had severe pregnancy reactions, her in-laws showed no concern, and her husband just kept working overtime—I was the one who attended to her every need, never leaving her side.

After Tommy was born, I was so busy my feet barely touched the ground. During the day, I took care of the baby and did housework; at night, I got up to make formula and change diapers. Afraid she'd be tied down by the child, I took care of Tommy for five years all on my own.

And in the end, I ended up being treated like I was "living in her house, freeloading off her"?

I was both angry and amused, tears welling up in my eyes. I laughed at my own foolishness and cried over my unappreciated efforts.

At this moment, my son-in-law pretended not to see our quarrel and quietly slipped into the bedroom.

Tommy, who was nearby, saw that I was upset, ran over to me, and tugged at my clothes. "Grandma, don't cry."

Tina quickly grabbed him and scolded with a frown, "Stay away from her! Or you'll learn bad habits and become a freeloader too."

With that, she plopped down on the sofa. "I'm a bit hungry. Go fry me some glutinous rice cake."

Her tone was no different from ordering a maid around, without a shred of respect.

I was furious. "The rice cooker makes the rice. Let the rice cooker do it!"

"What exactly do you want?" Tina was choked up for a moment, then yelled at me, "Is it just because I didn't buy you new clothes? I give you three thousand every month, is that so you can give me attitude?"

I was almost laughably angry. She actually thought I was upset about a piece of clothing?

Tina does give me three thousand every month.

But groceries, utilities, water and electricity, as well as Tommy's formula, diapers, snacks, and toys, none of that comes cheap.

A single can of Tommy's imported formula costs several hundred, and that alone is not enough.

I understood the pressure they were under and kept secretly subsidizing them.

But she, on the other hand, used that three thousand as both living expenses and the "nanny's" salary—really making one coin serve multiple purposes.

I couldn't hold back and laid out what was on my mind.

Tina's face instantly darkened like the bottom of a pot, and she sneered:

"Have you ever earned any money? That six thousand Dad gives me every month is out of love—what does it have to do with you? Don't flatter yourself!"

I looked up and met Martin's half-mocking gaze, which felt worse than swallowing ten thousand needles.

Tina's grandparents favored boys over girls and wanted to send her to an orphanage. It was I who withstood wave after wave of pressure from my in-laws to have a grandson, quit my job, and stayed by her side every step of the way as she grew up.

Later, Martin Sullivan made a fortune and his mind began to wander. He was dead set on having a son with other women outside, spending all his money on random mistresses, yet refusing to give a single cent to me, his own wife, or to his own daughter.

It was I who held the leverage of Martin's bigamy, silently fighting for her maximum benefit; I who concealed her father's disgrace, protecting her mental health; I who, just so she could have a wealthy father and struggle less in life, forced myself to endure this disgusting marriage, desperately saving money for her.

That six thousand dollars she mentioned was also money I, feeling sorry for her starting a family with difficulty, painstakingly squeezed out of Martin Sullivan.

A lifetime of sacrifice had turned into a joke.

I gave a sarcastic smile. "Martin Sullivan, is that so?"

A flicker of guilt passed through Martin Sullivan's eyes as he stood up to return to "his" other home.

Tina immediately rushed over to stop him, then vented her anger on me.

"You just have to make a fuss over every little thing, insisting on driving Dad away from home, turning the whole house into a mess. How can you be so selfish?"

I burst out laughing and threw my apron to the ground.

"Yeah, I'm selfish. From now on, I'll show you just how selfish I can be!"