Chapter 4

The third week, Ethan's mother, Helen, came over.

Helen visited two or three times a year, staying about a week each time.

She wasn't a bad person, but she had a talent for saying the most hurtful things in the most casual tone.

The evening she arrived, she scanned the living room.

"Madison dear, why haven't you been tidying up the house lately? Didn't you used to keep everything spotless?"

Before, whenever she visited, I'd do a deep clean three days in advance.

I'd scrub the kitchen until it gleamed, fold towels by color, even sort Daisy's toys into storage bins.

This time I didn't.

Not on purpose.

It was because after work I went to the gym, then came home and drew for a while.

There wasn't enough time.

"Been busy lately," I said.

Helen didn't respond, but I noticed her glance at Ethan.

I knew that look well.

Translated: "Look at your wife, getting more and more out of line."

This time Ethan actually spoke up.

"Mom, it's fine. The house is pretty clean."

Helen smiled. "I didn't say anything."

The next day, while Ethan was out, Helen cornered me in the kitchen.

"Madison dear, is there some conflict between you and Ethan?"

"No."

"Then why aren't you talking to him anymore? You used to chat with him constantly."

My knife kept moving through the vegetables.

"Helen, you said it yourself before. You said I was too clingy, that men need space."

Helen's smile froze for a second.

"I said that for your own good. Between husband and wife, women shouldn't be too forward. You need to be a bit reserved."

I dumped the cut vegetables into a bowl.

"See, now I'm being reserved."

Helen looked at me for a while.

"Why are you talking like this, child? So passive-aggressive."

"I'm not being passive-aggressive, Helen. I'm really learning to be reserved."

Her mouth moved, but she didn't say anything more.

As I turned to wash the knife, I heard her mutter under her breath.

"Getting more and more disrespectful."

Before, hearing that would've made me panic, made me reflect on what I'd done wrong.

Now I just wanted to laugh.

"Disrespectful" meant: not easy to control anymore.

Helen left after five days.

Before leaving, she called Ethan out to the balcony for a fifteen-minute conversation.

I stayed in the living room coloring with Daisy.

I couldn't hear what they said.

But when Ethan came back in, his expression was complicated.

He stood next to me, like he wanted to say something.

I didn't look up.

He stood there for several seconds, then left.

That night, he asked me a question on his own initiative.

"Have you been angry at me lately?"

I was in the study drawing.

I didn't look up.

"No."

"Then why won't you talk to me anymore?"

I stopped my pen.

This question was really something.

I'd chased him for ten years, saying dozens of sentences every day.

He found me annoying.

I'd been quiet for three weeks, and now he was asking.

"I'm not refusing to talk to you." I kept drawing. "I just realized there's nothing much to say."

He froze.

That sentence was too familiar.

Because over the past ten years, he'd said it to me at least a hundred times.

He probably remembered too, because his expression changed.

But he didn't say anything more.

He turned and left.

Just like his past thousand turns and departures.

Only this time, the person left standing wasn't me.