My father-in-law took a long puff from his pipe, exhaling a thick smoke ring. “You act like a city woman as soon as you walk in the door. If you’re hungry, there are a couple of steamed buns in the cupboard. Eat those.”
Too drained to argue, I simply turned and retreated to the bedroom in silence.
Lying on the cold, hard bed, memories of life before marriage swirled in my mind.
When we got engaged, my parents-in-law had held my hand warmly, promising, “We’ll treat you like our own daughter.”
My sister-in-law had hooked her arm through mine with a wide smile, saying, “Sister-in-law, we’re family now. If my brother ever dares to mistreat you, I won’t let him get away with it!”
But now, it was all painfully clear. Lies. Empty promises.
I had poured my heart into this family, never failing to bring gifts and red envelopes for every occasion, big or small.
Yet, today, I finally understood that, in the Shaw family, a daughter-in-law would always be an outsider.
Through the thin wooden door, I could hear their cheerful chatter and laughter, a stark reminder of my alienation.
I pulled the quilt tightly around me, forcing myself to block out the noise, and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.