As my mother returned to the kitchen, I gazed down at my daughter’s peaceful, sleeping face, lost in thought. It was then that my father tiptoed into the room, his movements deliberate and slightly exaggerated, as if enacting a secret mission.
He placed a thick red envelope on the table in front of me with a small smirk.
"Don’t tell your mother," he said in a low voice. "This is your father’s private stash, saved over a lifetime. It’s a money envelope for my precious granddaughter’s first month celebration!"
My father always claimed his private savings were for himself, but in truth, every cent had been spent on me—be it a sports car, a motorcycle, or even real estate and luxury watches.
I accepted the envelope with a quiet smile, but neither of us spoke much after that. He turned his attention to my sleeping daughter, reaching out to tease her tiny fingers.
Before he could succeed, my mother entered with a tray of freshly washed and cut fruit.
"What are you doing here, old man?" she said, mock-scolding him. "Don’t disturb Thaddeus and the baby! Out you go—the room stinks when you’re in it."
My dad, grumbling under his breath, left reluctantly. My mother, now smiling, turned to me.
"When will Elysia arrive?" she asked. "I want to time the cooking just right."
"She’s finalizing the formalities at the hospital," I replied. "She should be here soon. Don’t rush yourself."
At the mention of Elysia, my mother’s expression softened. She glanced at her hands—bony and worn from years of care—and sighed, as though hiding some unspoken emotion.
"Thaddeus," she said after a pause, her voice tender, "Elysia is a good woman. Your dad and I can see that. Girls like her who understand and care for their husbands are rare these days. You should give in to her more. Mom and Dad won’t always be here to guide you…"
Her words stirred something in me, and I found my eyes growing red. What a good mother—so loving, so patient. I nodded solemnly, pressing my lips tightly together.
Without another word, she pulled a pure gold bracelet from her pocket and carefully slipped it onto my daughter’s tiny wrist. She held her granddaughter’s hand for a moment, admiring it with an expression of deep satisfaction.
After a while, she seemed to remember I was there. She patted the back of my hand affectionately.