She seemed uneasy, her anxious fingers betraying her concern.
Whenever Mom was upset or felt wronged, she would twist her fingers, a habit I had noticed since childhood.
She handed me the remote and a plate of fruit.
“Reina, just relax and eat the fruit while you watch some TV. I’ll whip up your favorite braised pork ribs.”
Watching her move around, I smiled and nodded, but a sense of unease lingered.
Something felt off, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it.
After a long day of travel, I went to my room to freshen up.
When Mom first talked about remarrying, I’d used my savings to give her 30 thousand dollars and helped her move from a cramped two-bedroom house to a spacious three-bedroom place.
I wanted to make sure I’d have a comfortable spot to stay whenever I visited.
Thinking about this, I grabbed my suitcase and went to the master bedroom.
I had always loved the floor-to-ceiling windows and the natural light, so Mom had reserved this room for me.
But when I opened the door, I was shocked.
The clean, minimalist room I remembered had turned into a total mess.
The bed was now covered with an old, floral-patterned quilt, and the pillows were stained, giving off a foul odor.