Chapter 3My Husband Chose His Brother Over My Dying Father

My mother-in-law, Mrs. Davies, arrived the next day. She carried a bag of fruit and sat on the sofa. "Mina, please be understanding. Mark's renovation really is urgent."

"Mom, I know."

"Once Mark's settled, I'll have him treat you to dinner."

"No need."

"Oh, come on, we're family. Don't always keep such clear accounts. You earn more than Mark; what's wrong with helping him out?" she said, smiling, her tone gentle. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I earn more. Yes, I do earn more. I'm a quality control supervisor at a garment factory, with a monthly salary of eight thousand five hundred. Aaron drives a truck for a logistics company, earning six thousand a month. I earn more. But I didn't know "earning more" had become "should contribute more."

"Mom, my dad needs surgery—"

"I heard Aaron mention it," Mrs. Davies patted my hand. "Your dad has health insurance, right? Insurance covers a lot. For the rest, you can scrape it together. If worst comes to worst, borrow some from your relatives."

Borrow from my relatives. For her youngest son, she deducted from my salary card. For my dad, she told me to borrow from my relatives. I looked at her. She was still smiling. "You worry too much. We're family; we help each other. When Mark succeeds, he won't forget you, will he?"

"When." I had heard that word for eight years. When Mark earns money, he'll pay it back. When Mark gets stable, he won't need help. When Mark... "When" never came.

I said nothing, getting up to wash the dishes in the kitchen. The faucet ran, the rushing water covering the laughter from the living room. My mother-in-law was talking to Aaron: "Mark's shop just got a new shipment of goods. He might need a little more—" I closed the kitchen door. The water was cold. My hands were immersed in the cold water, washing one bowl after another.

When I reached the seventh bowl, I paused. I didn't know what I was thinking. I just felt my hands were cold, and my heart was cold too. Seven bowls. Four people for dinner, seven bowls. I used three. Aaron used a soup bowl and a rice bowl. Lily used one. My mother-in-law used one. Every single one was washed by me. For eight years, every single one was washed by me.

That night, my mom called. "Mina, your dad's surgery fee—"

"Mom, I'm working on it."

"Did you... talk to Aaron?"

"I did."

Silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. "Your mom understands Aaron's difficulties," my mom's voice was a little low. "It's hard to push aside his brother's issues. You... don't argue with Aaron. Talk it out properly. Life still has to go on."

Life still has to go on. Don't argue. Talk it out properly. Even my own mom was saying this.

"Mom, I understand."

"Don't worry, your dad said it's okay to delay a bit longer."

"It's fine. I'll figure it out."

I hung up the phone. I sat on the edge of the bed. Aaron was already asleep, snoring. Today, he had transferred three thousand to his brother, saying it was "urgent for stock." My dad's surgery admission form was in my bag. The surgery date was seventeen days away. I was still short fifty-eight thousand.

I took out my phone and opened my banking app. I scrolled down the transaction history. One by one. Three thousand. Five thousand. Eight thousand. Twenty thousand. Fifteen thousand. All under the name Mark Davies. In January, March, June, October. Every year.

I didn't calculate the total. I didn't dare. I was afraid the number I calculated would make me unable to sit on that bed for another second.