These words were harsh. Gabriela's mother, standing nearby, frowned and carried her plate to the kitchen.
I looked at her calmly.
"Aren't you here in this house? I hired them, I paid for it and Gabriela is busy. So, as their mother, you can't just lend a hand, can you?"
Gabriela’s mother realized she had said the wrong thing and tried to take it back, but it was too late; she became even more furious.
"Why should I serve you? You can't even have a child!"
I looked at Gabriela’s mother's distorted face, my eyes cold.
She had patted her chest and guaranteed that living together was only temporary and she wanted to take good care of us.
Gabriela had also asked me to understand.
That understanding lasted for five years.
For years, I endured my wife's cold words, my mother-in-law's veiled insults and sarcastic remarks.
Gradually, I came to truly understand the helplessness in my mother's eyes all those years ago.
"Child?" I asked with a half-smile.
Ignoring her calls behind me, I went straight back to the master bedroom.
Perhaps due to the sudden emotional turmoil after stopping the medication, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep soundly.
When I woke up again, it was already quite dark.