“To help the house,” she replied.
“No.”
My voice was firm.
“It’s to take care of my wife.”
Silence.
She stared at me.
“So you’re choosing her over your own mother?”
The question hung heavy.
I looked at Lily.
At the bowl.
Then back at her.
“I’m choosing what I can see.”
She opened her mouth—but said nothing.
I held up the bowl.
“Would you eat this?”
No answer.
“Would you give it to someone you love?”
Still nothing.
That was enough.
I placed an envelope on the table.
“There’s money in here,” I said. “Enough for you to find a small apartment nearby.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re… kicking me out?”
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m protecting my family.”
That night, the house was quiet.
I cooked fresh rice, fish, and hot soup.
When I set the plate in front of Lily, she hesitated.
“You can eat,” I said gently.
She looked at me. “Really?”
I nodded.
She took a bite.
Tears filled her eyes again.
“It’s… really good.”
“I know,” I said softly.
The baby started crying.
“I’ll go,” she said, standing up.
I followed her.
She held our son, rocking him gently under the warm light.
For the first time in weeks…
she looked at peace.
I stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Lily.”
She looked up.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not seeing it sooner.”
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”
I looked at her.
“From now on, no one will ever make you go hungry again.”
She smiled faintly.
“Not even me,” I added.
She let out a small laugh.
The baby drifted back to sleep.
We stood there quietly.
Then she whispered, “Today… for the first time since he was born… I feel like we’re really home.”
I held her close.
And in that moment, I understood something simple.
Money can provide comfort.
But real care…
only comes from the heart.
