Chapter 14 — My Sister-in-Law Is Not My Maid

I stood before the microphone, gazing out at the hundreds of faces seated below the stage.

Thank you for the recognition from the judges and my esteemed seniors in the industry.

I began, my voice steady.

I only wish to say one thing. Three years ago, I lost almost everything: my health, my child, and any hope I had left for the future. Back then, I thought design was merely a job, a humble tool to scrape by. But in time, I discovered it was the very means by which I could rebuild myself. Every single line, every spatial dimension, every ray of light I designed was my way of telling myself that I could begin anew.

For two seconds, absolute silence fell over the auditorium, followed by applause even louder and more thunderous than before. As I stepped down holding my trophy, a stranger intercepted me.

Hello, Miss Lam, I am the producer of the television cultural segment 'Spaces.' We would like to invite you as a guest for a special feature program...

I can do that.

I accepted her business card. Back in my seat, my phone lit up with a brief notification. A message from Zachary.

Congratulations.

Just those two words. I glanced at it briefly before locking the screen. After the banquet concluded, Harvey invited several colleagues out for a late-night supper. During the meal, he raised his glass in a toast.

In the three years since Bamboo Firm was founded, welcoming Niamh into our fold has been our finest decision. Next year she becomes a full partner, so everyone will soon need to address her as Managing Director Lam.

Everyone chuckled and clinked their glasses together. I took a sip of the red wine, finding its flavor exquisitely balanced. Neither overly sweet nor bitter. Simply perfect. In the second week after my return from the award ceremony, an unexpected figure reached out to me. Olivia. She sent an excessively long WeChat message, the gist of which was: Sister-in-law—no, I should call you Sister Niamh now. I know you likely have no desire to hear from me. Yet I felt compelled to apologize. Over the past year, so much has transpired, and only recently did I learn the truth of Ethan’s infidelity. We are currently undergoing divorce proceedings. Looking back upon these past few years, I realize I continually took advantage of you, draining your energy while remaining completely oblivious to my own actions. I once believed it was only natural for a sister-in-law to support her husband’s family, but that was never true. I was terribly selfish back then. I am truly sorry. The concluding sentence read: I dare not hope for your forgiveness, I merely wished for you to know that I finally understand. I read the message through without replying right away. I let it sit for three days. On the morning of the fourth day, I sent a single response.

Olivia, I accept your apology. However, I will not say 'it does not matter,' because it truly did matter. I lost a child, and that is not a wound an apology can erase. I wish you well in your future, and I hope you will never again take the sacrifices of others for granted.

With that sent, I closed the chat box and never opened it again. For certain people, apologies arrive far too late, leaving them with no greater purpose than serving as a period at the end of a sentence. That same week, my former mother-in-law also sent someone to pass along a message, expressing a desire to see me one more time. I instructed Attorney Chu to relay my answer: No meeting. From this day forward, all matters must be handled through legal counsel. Simple as that. Clean and absolute. No lingering ties or complicated entanglements. An autumn arrived two years later. I stood within the lobby of a resort hotel I had personally designed, gazing out at the sea through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. From the initial concept to its final realization, this project required eighteen months, standing as the crowning achievement of my career thus far. Spanning two hundred thousand square meters, every single inch of space had been meticulously deliberated over and refined. The grand opening drew countless attendees. Investors, media personnel, and over half of the provincial design community. Harvey stood amidst the crowd, raising a glass in a toast with me. Several people chatted warmly beside him, and I caught someone remarking:

Bamboo is currently the premier interior design firm in the entire province, and Niamh Lam single-handedly carries half the sky.

I chose not to join them, preferring to stand quietly in a corner holding a glass of sparkling water. Chloe sent a message: I watched the livestream, the hotel is breathtaking, is this your design, is it really your design, is it yours? I replied with a single smiley face icon. At twilight, after the day's events concluded, I walked alone for a long stretch along the wooden boardwalk hugging the shoreline. The sea breeze drifted in, causing the hem of my dress to flutter. My phone rang; it was my mother.

Niamh, dear, did the grand opening go smoothly today?

It went very smoothly.

Your father and I watched it on television, it was truly magnificent. Designed by our own daughter.

I let out a soft laugh.

Mother, I will be coming home for the Lunar New Year.

Wonderful, wonderful.

After ending the call, I continued walking forward. Along the distant horizon, the final embers of the sunset were sinking below the edge. My thoughts drifted to the person I had been so many years ago. The young woman who retched bitterly amidst the stench of greasy fumes, the woman who lay in a hospital bed staring up at the ceiling while tears streamed down, the woman who waited in a hospital corridor yet never saw a certain person arrive. Surely, she could never have imagined this day would come. Yet every single step she had taken along the way had possessed meaning. Three years later. Bamboo Design established its second branch in the provincial capital, with myself as co-founder. The company's annual revenue surpassed one hundred million.