My mother. My younger sister.

"Where is your brother? The lights are on, but the place is silent."

"Hurry up. Pack up all that jinx's trash and throw it out. Keeping a dead person's things is bad luck."

"I need to get Vivi moved in ASAP. Then I can finally hold a grandson. That useless woman—married four years and couldn't pop out a son or a daughter. Good riddance. At least now we have space."

They barged into the master bedroom. My sister yelped when she spotted me on the floor.

"Brother? You're home? You... you didn't hear anything, did you?"

She recovered fast, sliding on a mask of concern. "Sister-in-law is gone, so Mom and I came to help you tidy up. We were afraid seeing her things would upset you. Don't misunderstand."

I looked at them—the two women who were supposed to be my family. Guilt flushed their faces, but their eyes held no remorse.

A cold realization settled into my gut.

*So this is how they treated Amy when I wasn't around.*

During our four years of marriage, Amy had asked—begged—to live separately from them.

And what did I do?

I scolded her. Called her petty. Told her she was intolerant and unfilial.

My father died young. My mother raised my sister and me alone. I felt I owed her everything. So after marrying Amy, I moved my mother and sister in. Four people under one roof.

In front of me, my mother treated Amy like a princess. Better than her own daughter. The best food, the best clothes. Never let her lift a finger.

Amy tried to tell me it was all an act.

Tears in her eyes, she told me the moment I left for work, my mother would treat her like a servant—piling chores on her, mocking her for being a "hen that couldn't lay eggs."

Every time she brought it up, I shut her down. I was impatient. I didn't want to hear it.

Eventually, Amy stopped talking.

Deep down, didn't I know what my mother was like?

Of course I did.

But I was busy. I was the man of the house. I didn't have time for "trivial domestic squabbles." My mother had suffered her whole life—why couldn't Amy just yield a little?

*Heh.*

I wasn't just a bad husband.

I was scum.

Slowly, I rose to my feet. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as I fixed a glacial stare on them.

"Vivi and I are finished. She isn't moving in. And you won't be holding a grandson."

My voice came out dead calm.

"The one who can't have children isn't Amy. It's me."

My mother's gasp echoed off the walls.