Chapter 2

The nurse looked at the reddened IV tube, then gave me a sympathetic glance.

“Oh, single moms have it rough. By the way, your daughter needs to stay in the NICU for observation.”

My heart lurched.

“What’s wrong with her? It’s not pneumonia or a cough, is it?”

Lily had also developed a fever, and we’d both been rushed to the hospital together.

The nurse, while adjusting my IV, comforted me.

“Pediatrics said no, it’s probably just a chill.”

I breathed a slight sigh of relief.

The nurse then asked,

“If your husband’s family isn’t around, can your parents come to help out? With both you and your little one hospitalized, it’s inconvenient without family nearby.”

Actually, I had thought about calling Mom and Dad when I woke up, but they lived too far away.

From the West Coast to the East Coast—it spanned almost the entire country.

Even if they rushed, the fastest they could get here would be tomorrow.

In that moment, I truly understood what it meant to marry so far away: no family support!

Seeing my silence, the nurse didn't press further.

She’d seen this situation countless times in the hospital; there was nothing for her not to understand.

As she left, she turned back to remind me,

“Even if you’re raising the baby alone, you need to take better care of yourself. Look at your milk ducts, they’re so clogged you waited until they got inflamed. We’ll start with anti-inflammatory and milk-clearing treatments for the next couple of days. If that doesn’t work, you might need surgery to drain them.”

I sighed, clutching my chest, which throbbed with needle-like pain.

My milk ducts clogged the day after Lily was born. My chest felt hard as a rock, and the pain was unbearable.

I told Brenda I needed a bland diet, but yesterday she still cooked a greasy pot of pig trotters soup for me, saying it would help with milk production.

I told her I couldn't drink it, and she immediately started tearing up, complaining to Derek that I was throwing a fit.

Derek’s face darkened instantly. He scolded me, saying it was "just clogged milk ducts," how could I refuse the soup Mom had slaved over?

He didn’t even notice I already had a low-grade fever.

I was too weak from the pain to argue with him, so I turned away and ignored him.

He stood behind me, huffing,

“I’m not one of those ungrateful sons who forgets his mother the moment he gets married. You’re a college graduate, and your parents are educated people. Surely you know what it means to respect your elders and be grateful, right?”

I had intended to just put up with it, but then he dragged my parents into it, and I was so angry, tears welled up.

“Derek, grateful? My milk ducts have been blocked for three days, and your mom still insists I drink that pig trotters soup. If I don’t, she cries and complains to you. What exactly am I supposed to be grateful for?”

“If you think my mom isn’t good enough, then you take care of yourself! My mom isn’t a maid to serve a princess!”

That really pushed me over the edge.

“Derek, my incision hasn’t even healed properly. Are you even listening to yourself? Fine, I guess I’m not destined for the Miller family’s care, I accept that. Have your mom give me the $2,500 for a confinement nurse, and I’ll hire one myself.”

“Crazy! Unbelievable!”

Derek spun around and stormed out.

I had hit a nerve.

When I was pregnant, I wanted to hire a confinement nurse.

Brenda didn’t want to come take care of me during my postpartum confinement, saying Leo was at a critical time for his exams and couldn’t do without her cooking and care.

My mom was a homeroom teacher for a graduating class and couldn't take such a long leave.

She was also afraid I’d suffer, so she offered to pay for me to stay at a luxury postpartum care center.

Derek said the money for the center would be better used to upgrade our car, since with a baby, we’d need a bigger one.

I suggested we just hire a confinement nurse then.

A colleague recommended Aunt Carol, a great confinement nurse she had used. The price was agreed: $2,000 for forty-two days.

Brenda heard about it and insisted on coming.

She said she’d given birth to two children and knew best how to take care of a baby.

Besides, she argued, no outsider would care as much as the baby’s own grandmother. Why pay an outsider when family could earn that money?

I disagreed at first.

Brenda’s sole focus was always on Leo.

Derek tried hard to please her, but Brenda didn’t even seem to like him much.

In my eyes, if it weren’t for stringing along Derek just to get money to support Leo, she wouldn't even bother to humor him.

If she didn't even like her own son, would she like me and the baby?

But Derek kept pleading with me:

“Chloe, Mom rarely comes to our place. She genuinely wants to take care of you and our baby. Just do it for me, please.”

Seeing his hopeful face, I couldn't bear to refuse and agreed.

I never imagined I was setting myself up for such a huge disaster.

When I was discharged and returned home, I found that Derek had given the master bedroom to Brenda. Lily and I were relegated to the smaller second bedroom.

The tiny room, with a bassinet crammed in, left me barely any space to move.

That would have been somewhat bearable.

But the second bedroom had no private bathroom, so every time I had to bathe Lily, I had to use the main bathroom.

Brenda wouldn't even properly dry Lily’s hair or body. She’d just haphazardly wrap her in a bath towel and hand her to me to get dressed.

I reminded her that the baby could easily catch a cold that way.

She immediately complained to Derek, accusing me of nitpicking.

Before she came, Derek and I had a pretty good relationship. We never had a serious argument or raised our voices at each other.

I remembered when I first came out of the delivery room, he had red-rimmed eyes and gently touched my IV-drip hand, saying, “You worked so hard, my love.”

He even held Lily, smiling foolishly and saying how lucky he was to have such a cute daughter.

I thought I was so happy then.

But after Brenda arrived, within just a few days, Derek was like a different person.

“She’s my mom, what do you expect me to do?”

“She’s my mom, can’t you just put up with it?”

“She’s my mom, can you please stop making a scene?”

We argued almost daily.

I was utterly fed up.

But looking at Lily’s adorable little face, I told myself to just let it go.

Brenda would leave once my postpartum confinement was over anyway.

As for Derek, my feelings for him had faded. I’d just consider him a roommate to raise our daughter.

Endure it! Endure it!

I wanted to endure, but Brenda didn’t.

The moment Derek left, Brenda walked right in.

She went to the window without a word and, *bang*, flung it open.

A late autumn chill immediately poured into the room.