My mother, however, held my nephew, who had jumped from my lap, in her arms and yelled at me with an annoyed look:
"Marjorie, why are you, as an adult, arguing with a child?"
"He's your nephew, can't you just give in?"
I covered my head, endured the dizziness, and stood up to confront my mother:
"He just called Sherry and me worthless little brats!"
My mother glared:
"I heard it!"
"Children's words are innocent, you're just taking it too seriously!"
I was stunned.
My mother's words pierced my heart like a sharp knife.
She heard it?
So, she had been secretly observing the living room from the moment I walked in? She saw my nephew hit me with a teacup, heard him scold me and my daughter, and pretended to be oblivious the entire time. But just when I was about to teach my nephew a lesson, she suddenly stood up and pushed me from behind, slamming me against the coffee table.
I gasped, but continued to stare at my mother in disbelief, pointing at the bloody hole in my forehead.
"Mom, he hit my forehead like that, and you're really not going to do anything about it?"
My mother said, "Why did he hit you? Don't you know why? You promised to take him to buy snacks, and what happened?"