Chapter 2 — The Price of Contempt

His fingers clenched the phone until they turned white. After work, I hurried home. As soon as I opened the door, the smell of food spread out. My mother is busy in the kitchen. Braised ribs, spicy and sour fish, stir-fried shrimp with garlic, stir-fried vegetables... a full table. These are all Phuong Vien San's favorite dishes. I walked over and saw my mother's forehead covered in sweat and her apron stained with oil.

“Mom, please take a break, let me finish.”

My mother waved her hand:

“No need, you've been working all day, quickly change your clothes and rest.”

The doorbell rang. Phuong Vien San brought Han Triet there. He was wearing a neat suit, carrying two bottles of wine, and looking at him, he looked like a wealthy man. Phuong Vien Chau quickly came out to greet her and shook hands enthusiastically:

“Han Triet, welcome.”

The mother-in-law also smiled brightly, pulling Phuong Vien San to look from top to bottom:

“My daughter really has an eye for choosing people.”

My mother brought the last dish from the kitchen. Seeing guests arriving, she instinctively smiled slightly, intending to say hello. Phuong Vien San stepped forward to block her. Then he turned to Han Triet and introduced himself very naturally:

“This is the maid in the house, she cooks very well.”

My mother's hands trembled slightly. The smile froze on his face. Han Triet politely nodded:

“Hello, it's been hard.”

My mother bowed her head and said "yes" softly. Then turned around and slowly walked into the kitchen. The silhouette of the back seemed to be a little lower. I stood in the dining room door, my nails digging into my palms. When eating, my mother did not come to the table. She carried a bowl of white rice, squatted in the corner of the kitchen, and ate with a plate of pickles. The entire table of food was made by her. But she didn't take a single piece. Mother-in-law once said:

“Delicious food is for people in the family to eat, you can just eat it lightly.”

From then on, my mother never came to the table again. Outside the living room, Han Triet picked up a piece of ribs and complimented:

“Vien San's house hired a maid who is really good at cooking, this dish is very delicious.”

Phuong Vien San smiled sweetly:

“That's right, please come back, cooking is my main occupation.”

Mother-in-law is also proud:

"Our family lives according to standards, and our clothes are not skimpy."

I tightened my chopsticks until I made a sound. I want to stand up and say... that's not the maid, that's my mother. But I held back. It's not that I'm weak. It's that I don't want to make my mother feel more awkward in this situation. After eating, Han Triet went to the bathroom. Phuong Vien San leaned closer to me and lowered his voice:

“Sister-in-law, thank you for your cooperation.”

"Han Triet's family conditions are good. If he knew that our family also had an old country woman who spoke with a local accent... I understand."

She blinked, as if sharing a very intimate secret. I looked at her. In the room I pay electricity and water bills. Eat food cooked by my mother. But I don't want to admit who my mother is. A "I understand". I… really understand. After Han Triet left, the house returned to its familiar rhythm of life. Phuong Vien San was lying on the sofa watching a movie, her mother-in-law was in the room making a video call to play cards with her friend. I went into the kitchen to find my mother. Pushing the door open, I saw her bending over the sink. Your elbows rest on the edge of the tub, your whole body puts all your strength on it. The water that comes out is cold water. The water heater has been broken for three days. I told Phuong Vien Chau twice, he just said "call someone to fix it in a few days". The broken one is the one in the shared bathroom. The private bathroom in his bedroom and his mother-in-law still use it normally. The only person who has to use cold water is my mother. I walked over and pulled her hand back. Those hands were red, swollen, and the knuckles were large and rough. deformation. Those hands, when they were young, did so much hard work... I don't dare to think. Now sixty years old, still standing in the middle of winter, using cold water to wash other people's dishes.

“Mom, stop washing.”

“It's okay, there are only a few left.” My mother withdrew her hand and smiled softly. “Go rest.”

I turned off the faucet. Look at her for a long time.

“Mom… I'm done with my anger.”

My mother paused for a moment. Then shook his head.

"Not at all. Help me take care of Tieu Nien, I'm not happy enough yet."

"Mom." My voice was hoarse.

“Mom, you don't need to hide it from me.”

“I know they don't let you go out.”

“I know they call mom ‘maid’.”

“I know every day you can't eat a bite of the food you cook.”

“I know everything.”

My mother's eyes suddenly panicked. She quickly glanced at the door, confirmed there was no one, then held my hand and lowered her voice:

“An Ninh, don't take it to heart.”

"I'm used to suffering, so what's the point of this?"

"Mom is only afraid of one thing... afraid that you will quarrel with Vien Chau because of me."

“When husband and wife live together, collisions are normal.”

"If because of mom, the two of us are not at peace, I'm very sorry."

I bit my lip, not letting my tears fall.

“But I am your mother.”

“They treat me like that, how can you pretend you don't see it?”

My mother sighed softly, just like when I was bullied as a child, she patted my head like that.

“Idiot, mom is here… it will be awkward for you.”

“Or... Mom, let's go home.”

My heart sank.

“Let's go home.” She smiled, as light as nothing.

"Tieu Nien is grown up, he doesn't need someone to look after him all day anymore."

She spoke softly. It's as if the past two years were just a matter of helping others with a small matter. But I see clearly... tears are sparkling in her eye sockets. She didn't want to go. She just didn't want me to feel awkward. I sat down, holding those rough, cold hands tightly.

“Mom, you don't need to go anywhere.”

“Tomorrow, let me arrange it.”

My mother looked at me, as if she wanted to say something. Finally just patted the back of my hand:

“Don't be impulsive.”

“I'm not impulsive.”

I looked straight into her eyes, every word clear.

“I just don't want mom to have to endure another day of resentment.”

That night, my mother turned off the light in the storage room. I stood outside the door, listening quietly. She tossed and turned for a long time. Then a soft cry rang out, suppressed in the throat. So light that... as if afraid that anyone would hear. I leaned my back against the door, my whole body shaking. Not because of the cold. It's because the things that have accumulated for so long... have finally reached their limit.