I lay on the operating table, listening to my husband's suppressed sobs, my heart felt like it had been drenched in ice-cold water.
Thankfully, the surgery was smooth and uneventful, with both mother and child safe and sound.
Seeing me wake up, Caleb hugged me tightly and cried.
He told me that the baby had been placed in an incubator because he was premature. He showed me a photo of the baby he had posted on his Instagram feed, with the caption: [Mother and child are safe and sound. Thank God for your blessing. I will do everything in my power to protect my two precious family for the rest of my life.]
I held my phone, looking at it again and again with great fondness.
Below were countless blessings from my husband's colleagues and students.
I was scrolling through my Instagram feed, feeling grateful and blessful, but then I saw my mother's post.
She wore a gold bracelet, grinning ear to ear at the camera, with the caption: [Still, my youngest daughter is the most considerate and generous. She insisted on buying me a gold bracelet, spending over four thousand five hundred dollars. Who would dare say my beloved daughter doesn’t have me in her heart?]
Four thousand five hundred for seven hundred thousand dollars— that was generous?
Right after, she left a comment under the post in my Instagram feed announcing the good news.
[So poor yet still daring to have a child—should I call it courageous or just plain foolish?]
Upon seeing these glaring words again, I felt no great stir in my heart.
All those years of obsession had faded away in the face of life and death.
She didn't care about me, but it was okay. I had a husband, child -- my own little family.
The maternal love I never received, better off without it.
From now on, I would give all my love to those who deserve it.
Caleb caught a glimpse of my phone and pulled me into his arms with a tender embrace.
I calmly blocked my mother's number, feeling a weight lifted from my shoulders and smiled with relief.
"Honey, from now on, we just need to focus on making our own happy life."
The peaceful days lasted for half a month when my mother called, her words brimming with anger.
"Isla, you really have a bad temper! You haven't brought us any groceries or cooked for us for half a month. Do you want to starve us to death?"
"Do you forget that your dad's leg needs a monthly check-up?"