I assumed Aria had noticed. I thought the ginseng was her way of acknowledging my sacrifice, a gift to help me heal.
I never imagined it wasn't for me at all.
I steadied my shaking hands and turned to my daughter.
"Aria," I asked, voice trembling, "is Jonathan telling the truth?"
She looked at me with a troubled expression, feigning helplessness. Her voice was soft, almost patronizing.
"Mom, you know Mrs. James has poor health. Why would you assume I bought something this expensive for you?"
Hearing those words from the daughter I had cherished since birth... it was laughable. Truly laughable.
In the beginning, I actually believed the lie about her mother-in-law's frailty.
Because of that belief, I shouldered every burden in this house. I didn't let Mrs. James lift a finger.
I even spent my limited free time brewing restorative soups, intending to deliver them to her as a gesture of goodwill.
But one day, when I arrived at her apartment complex with a thermos of soup, I didn't find a sick woman. I found Mrs. James vibrant and energetic, square dancing in the plaza with a group of friends.