I send my mother 1.5 million pesos monthly for my postpartum wife. Coming home early, I found my wife eating spoiled rice with fish heads. Furious, I confronted my mom, who sneered, “She doesn’t deserve better.” Then, I checked the family safe and found…
stool. “What are you doing?” the question tore from my lips, thick with confusion and rising panic.
Before her trembling lips could even form a syllable, my eyes locked onto the vessel she was clutching to her chest. I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the ceramic rim, and gently but forcefully pulled it down where I could see inside.
