“What for? Planning to call someone for help?”

I quickly shook my head.

“No, I’m just worried I might miss other important calls. If you keep my phone, what if someone else needs to reach me?”

He lowered his head, thinking for a moment, but still refused.

“If someone calls, I’ll bring you the phone. Until then, don’t even think about making any other moves.”

“It’s almost noon. Go make lunch. The kitchen is your battlefield.”

I looked at him and suddenly felt like he was a stranger.

When we first married, he wasn’t like this.

Turns out it had all been an illusion.

His face twisted with fury whenever this subject came up, as if it was cursed.

The sight made me sick to my stomach.

Fine. His brother—if he wanted to save him, he could. If not, so be it.

I wasn’t going to fight him anymore.

But when the truth came out, he’d regret it.

With that, I went to cook.

The whole meal passed in silence, not a single word between us.

The house remained silent all afternoon.

It wasn’t until evening, when Richard brought Ethan home from school, that I forced a smile.

“Ethan, you’re back! Go wash your hands and get ready for dinner.”

Just then, the phone rang. It was Richard’s parents.

He answered, then told me sternly:

“My mom wants us to bring Ethan over for dinner. They miss their grandson.”

“Get Ethan ready—we’re leaving soon.”

I nodded, giving a faint “Mm” from my throat.

Richard kept watching me closely. Even when I bathed Ethan and changed his clothes, he set a timer, checking every ten minutes and rushing me again and again.

He already had my phone—what else was he so afraid of?

After all, this was his own brother. Did he really have no compassion at all?

Even if he thought it was my brother, Mark, wasn’t that still his brother-in-law?

He was acting like he couldn’t wait for Mark to die.

Cold-blooded.

I shot him a displeased glance and told him to drive.

At the Millers’ house, his parents rushed out happily to greet Ethan.

Richard and I handed them the gifts we’d brought, and their smiles grew wide.

Every visit was the same—we always brought things, sometimes even money.

They were practical small-town folk, valuing what they could hold in their hands more than warmth or words. Over time, that became the unspoken rule between us.

Every visit meant gifts—or cash.

I knew their calls to “come for dinner” were never about genuine family bonding. It was about what Richard and I could bring them.