Chapter 2

It was time for the parents' speeches.

The moment Brenda walked onto the stage, I gasped again.

Though she wasn't wearing a wedding dress, she had on a white cocktail dress, a semi-backless style. From afar, it absolutely looked like a bride's outfit.

And the veil I couldn't find earlier? It was tied to her head.

The entire room of guests froze, stunned into silence. But Mark was beaming at her, whispering to me, "My mom's really showing off today, isn't she?"

I couldn't help but frown.

David, my father-in-law, began his congratulatory speech to us.

Meanwhile, Brenda and Mark linked fingers, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes.

Brenda had a smile on her face, but her eyes were brimming with tears. She stared intently at Mark, even leaning her head on his shoulder.

It didn't look like the joy of a son finally getting married. It looked more like a mother heartbroken her son was about to jump into a fiery pit.

Mark responded to Brenda's gaze with a gentle expression, and when her tears slowly streamed down, he gently raised his hand to wipe them away.

The mother and son were so engrossed in each other that they didn't even notice David had finished speaking.

Hundreds of guests in the ballroom wore expressions of utter disbelief, as if silently asking, "What did I just witness?"

But those two were completely oblivious.

I felt absolutely sick to my stomach.

I knew Mark and his mom were close. Three SnapChat video calls a day were the bare minimum.

Besides reminding Mark about his daily clothes, food, and travel, Brenda would specifically warn him against briefs, Coca-Cola, even tofu and celery, claiming they were "bad for a man's... vitality."

But at the same time, she'd also lecture him to "stay strong, don't let 'loose' girls corrupt his purity," even if he had a girlfriend.

When they video called at night, they'd even be barely dressed, fresh out of the shower.

The first time I learned about their conversations, I was so shocked I couldn't speak.

There's a saying: a daughter should avoid her father's direct presence as she grows, and a son his mother's. It's about respecting boundaries.

After I turned ten, my dad always knocked before entering my room.

If he had something specific to tell me, he'd ask my mom to do it.

He wouldn't even walk around shirtless at home in the summer; if I was home, he'd at least wear a sleeveless undershirt.

Was Mark and his mom's relationship just too close?

Yet, if his mom wasn't involved, Mark was the perfect boyfriend, the ideal future husband.

He'd take me to the doctor when I had a cold, instead of just saying "drink more hot water."

He'd make me ginger-brown sugar tea for period cramps and even took me to an acupuncturist.

He was always so calm, never once got mad or upset with me, no matter what happened.

Beyond that, he was hardworking and steadily advancing in his career.

Everyone said I'd found a great man and could confidently marry him.

Brenda and we didn't live in the same city, so we didn't see each other much before, and wouldn't live together in the future. My concerns were minimal.

But now, seeing Brenda's actions and her interactions with Mark firsthand, I couldn't deny it: a knot formed in my stomach.