Chapter 2

In the end, we both compromised. Daniel wouldn't unilaterally try to quit my job for me, and I would rest at home for a while until I recovered.

"Sorry, Brenda, I'll be back at work in a week."

She expressed understanding.

I curled up on the couch, chatting idly with her, when I suddenly heard a commotion at the door.

"Oh dear, how could such a thing happen, a car accident out of nowhere?"

My mother-in-law, Martha, walked in, clutching a small purse, and settled herself tightly beside me, making herself at home.

I shifted away, looking at Daniel who had followed her in, questioning him with my eyes.

He smiled.

"Mom heard about your miscarriage, she was worried about you, so she traveled all this way to take care of you."

"Yes, that's right. Such a grown woman, can't even drive properly, isn't that just making us old folks work hard? My poor son, he was finally going to have a child, and you just... cut it short."

As Martha's words grew increasingly inappropriate, I didn't have the energy to get angry.

Because Daniel had only smiled through the first part, but when he heard the word "child," his face suddenly changed.

This was very wrong.

But I didn't have much chance to investigate.

Martha, under the guise of taking care of me, followed me everywhere.

Chloe called, wanting my help with a project, and Martha leaned closer to me as she picked vegetables.

I frowned, turned and went upstairs, closing the door.

I'd barely opened my laptop when a loud knocking started.

"Mom, I'm working."

"Work is work, but why close the door? It's like you're guarding against a thief. There are only two of us in this house, what do you take me for?"

I had no choice but to leave the door open.

Martha left, satisfied.

She was back a moment later.

Carrying a plate of fruit, she placed it on the desk, her eyes constantly darting to my screen.

"Didn't you say you were busy with work? Why is it a SnapChat page?"

"Work requires communication."

"Is this a man or a woman? My son said you're not allowed to talk to men. Don't think that just because he's not here, you can ignore what he says."

After several back and forths, I finally snapped.

"Your son, your son! Are you here to take care of me or to spy on me for your son?"

Martha was startled by my sudden outburst, scoffed, and stomped downstairs.

When Daniel returned that evening, the two of them murmured in their regional dialect for a long time.

Lying halfway on the bed, reading a book, Daniel pushed open the door and lay down beside me.

"Did you argue with Mom?"

"Did you tell your mom to spy on me?"

I was fuming.

"What nonsense. She's just doing it for our own good. Maybe her methods are a bit hard for you to accept."

One playing the bad cop, the other the good cop.

"Didn't you tell her to do this? Now you're acting all calm and pretending to be the good guy!"

I slammed a glass on the floor, making a loud crash.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?"

Martha burst through the door.

I turned and glared at her.

"Can you please knock before you come in!"

"What? My son's room, and I, his mother, can't enter?"

Martha spoke in dialect.

Daniel joined her.

The two went back and forth, but I couldn't understand a thing.

Rage surged, swelling like a balloon: the injustice of losing my child, the helplessness of almost being forced to resign, the annoyance of being spied on by my mother-in-law.

At that moment, a steel needle pricked it.

"Can you two please stop speaking in dialect!"

I screamed hysterically. Both of them looked at me.

Martha tried to say something else, but Daniel cut her off.

She left, and Daniel reached out to stroke my back.

"Alright, alright, don't be angry anymore."

I calmed down a bit, listening to his soft, gentle voice, and couldn't help but soften my tone, intending to discuss it properly with him.

"When you and your mom speak in your dialect, it makes me feel like an outsider."

Daniel still smiled.

"Then you should learn it too, wouldn't that solve it?"