Another niece, who wasn’t very close to our family, chimed in too. [Uncle, Daniel is paying you just to keep you busy and give you a bit of income. Isn’t that better than doing nothing at home? Why can’t you just appreciate that?]
[The money is handled by your daughter-in-law. She’s just being careful for the sake of the factory. You did take the twenty cents, didn’t you? What’s wrong with them mentioning it?]
[It’s not like you’re losing anything.]
[That’s right,] added another relative. [Damien, we have no right to criticize you here, but try to be honest with yourself. When you’re old, won’t you still depend on Daniel and his wife?]
[If you upset them now, how will you live later? Just apologize and get back to work. We’re family, Damien, why make such a big deal out of it?]
The messages kept coming, one after another. They all blamed me, called me petty, unreasonable and ungrateful for my children’s so-called kindness.
None of them knew what it felt like to wake up at five every morning, to cook for nearly a hundred people alone, day after day.