“Do you like it?” she asked, a hint of excitement in her voice. “I wanted to thank you, honey, for taking such good care of our daughter this past month. You’ve worked so hard.”
I accepted the gift with a faint smile and kissed her gently on the forehead.
“It’s too nice to wear,” I said softly. “Let’s put it away for now. Come on, dinner’s ready.”
She nodded, her smile unwavering, showing no sign of disappointment.
What a thoughtful and perfect wife.
When dinner was finally served, Elysia stepped out to the balcony to take a call.
My parents and I shared an unspoken understanding: no one reached for their chopsticks.
We waited. Half an hour passed before Elysia returned from the balcony, and only then did we begin to eat.
My dad, usually composed, seemed unusually flustered today. His attempts at conversation were clumsy, almost forced.
“Here, try this,” he said, placing food on Elysia’s plate. “This is your mom’s specialty. You won’t find anything like it outside.”
My mom chimed in with a nervous smile, her embarrassment thinly veiled.
“It’s nothing special. As long as you like it, I’ll make more next time. Come home often, okay? Bring our precious granddaughter… we’d love to see her more.”