Whenever Mom was upset or felt wronged, she would twist her fingers, a habit I had noticed since childhood.
She handed me the remote and a plate of fruit.
“Reina, just relax and eat the fruit while you watch some TV. I’ll whip up your favorite braised pork ribs.”
Watching her move around, I smiled and nodded, but a sense of unease lingered.
Something felt off, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it.
After a long day of travel, I went to my room to freshen up.
When Mom first talked about remarrying, I’d used my savings to give her 30 thousand dollars and helped her move from a cramped two-bedroom house to a spacious three-bedroom place.
I wanted to make sure I’d have a comfortable spot to stay whenever I visited.
Thinking about this, I grabbed my suitcase and went to the master bedroom.
I had always loved the floor-to-ceiling windows and the natural light, so Mom had reserved this room for me.
But when I opened the door, I was shocked.
The clean, minimalist room I remembered had turned into a total mess.
The bed was now covered with an old, floral-patterned quilt, and the pillows were stained, giving off a foul odor.
The white princess bed I’d picked out was scratched and worn.
The nightstand was cluttered with snack wrappers, used socks, and undergarments.
The master bedroom had its bathroom, which I had equipped with a high-tech toilet. The last time I visited, it was pristine, but now it was stained and emitted a repugnant smell.
Seeing my once-favorite room in such a state made me furious.
But then I reminded myself that Mom was probably just trying to accommodate Cody’s son during the summer break.
I couldn’t let her feel bad about this.
However, Mom said the boy was only visiting for the summer, but judging by the condition of the bathroom, it didn’t seem like he had just arrived.
I closed the door to the master bedroom and turned to the second bedroom. It had good natural light as well, so I hoped Mom had moved my things here.
But when I opened the door, I was shocked again.
The furniture was in disrepair. The ceiling light was cracked, the doorknob was broken, and the closet door was hanging off its hinges.
The room was cluttered with piles of cardboard boxes and plastic bottles, resembling a small recycling depot rather than a bedroom.
Seeing me standing there in disbelief, Mom, who was busy preparing the ribs, quickly explained.