Chapter 4
729 Words
Mom and Dad were stuck in a silent deadlock. On the surface, they acted just like they always did, but everything between them had shifted, irrevocably.
The breaking point came one ordinary morning. Elara was three months pregnant, and her ultrasound showed it was a boy.
Dad was over the moon. He moved her straight into our house right away.
Leaning all soft and delicate against Dad's chest, Elara simpered, "Maeve, I'm so sorry to be such a bother to you these days."
Dad held her protectively to his side, then turned and snapped orders at Mom. "Elara's carrying a boy, and her morning sickness is brutal. Maeve, you've been pregnant before, you know what to do. You'll take good care of her, right? This is the first boy grandchild in my family. Nothing can go wrong with this baby.
"The master bedroom gets the best sunlight; it's perfect for Elara to rest. You go ahead and move into the guest room for now. I remember you're great at making nutritious meals for pregnancy. Elara's three meals a day are all on you. I want to see your meal plan before you finalize anything," he rattled off, covering every little detail.
Mom's face drained of all color until it was paper-white, and her whole body started to sway. She stared at him, completely disbelieving.
"Julian! You want me to wait on this homewrecker? Have you no shame at all?" she cried.
Dad glanced at her twisted, grief-stricken face, furrowed his brow in disgust, and the words slipped out before he could think. "You look hideous. Think about your mother's illness," he reminded her, cool and calm.
Mom froze solid on the spot. After a long, heavy silence, she answered through her stiff jaw, "I understand."
From that day on, Mom turned into little more than a live-in maid in her own home, waiting on Elara hand and foot.
Every morning, she would cook breakfast for Dad and Elara first, then sit and watch them flirt and canoodle across the dining table right in front of her.
At night, Mom would hold me tight to sleep in the guest room, while Dad and Elara slept together in the master bedroom. Strange noises always drifted over from their room. Elara sounded like she was in pain, moaning nonstop.
Every single time this happened, Mom would cling to me and cry. In just one short month, she dropped so much weight so fast that she was several pounds lighter.
In the hospital ward, Grandma held Mom's hand and stared at her, her heart breaking. "Maeve, are you hurting? Are you wronged? How did you get so thin?" she asked.
Mom gave Grandma a soft, gentle smile. "Mom, I'm fine, I promise. I'm just trying to lose weight. You focus on getting better here, okay? The doctor said if you take care of yourself properly, your illness won't come back," she said.
Grandma just looked at her and said nothing. But a flash of sharp resolve flickered deep in her kind, old eyes.
When Elara was five months pregnant, she demanded that Mom wash her feet for her. "Maeve, I heard you're amazing at massages. Don't you think little old me deserves to enjoy that, too? My calves have swollen all out of shape from this pregnancy," she said.
Dad stared at her, soft with worry, and immediately snapped at Mom, "What are you standing there gawking for? Get moving!"
Mom said nothing. She just carried a basin of warm water over and squatted down right in front of Elara.
But out of nowhere, Elara lifted her foot suddenly and sloshed all the warm water straight into Mom's face.
"Oh, sorry, Maeve!" Elara said, sounding the picture of innocence, but victory glinting sharp in her eyes. "The water was just so hot, I kicked the basin by accident. Could you go dump this and get me a fresh one?"
"Elara!" Dad barked her name in warning, and Elara just pursed her lips and did not say another word.
Mom finished washing Elara's feet like a lifeless puppet, then drifted back to the guest room like a lost ghost.
I stared at her, my chest tight with worry. "Mom, can't we just leave here?" I asked.
She spoke blankly, dead to the world around her. "We can't leave. My mom can't stop her treatment."
- Writer
