Chapter 6: The Settlement

Maple Heights is a school district apartment. Usually, I live there with the housekeeper, Mrs. Carter. Dad and Mom live in the house out in the western suburbs. Sometimes I run between both places, waiting for Dad to pick me up. Now that I think about it, Dad sent me away on purpose so he could push Mom around, and since Mom couldn’t speak, no one would know. Thinking of this, I clenched my fists.

The elevator ride felt endless. When we got there, there were a lot of people inside. Dad sat idly on the couch, legs crossed, fancy red-soled shoes facing out. He looked lazy and careless. I heard the maids say that before meeting Mom, he was just like this. So it turned out he really had been pretending.

He wore an expensive blazer, even though it was almost eighty out. His phone screen glowed with unread texts from other rich kids in town. “You’re here.”

Samantha was busy in the kitchen, making cookies and coffee for everyone. A steaming cup was placed in front of Dad. He lazily lifted his eyelids, his hand unconsciously pressing down on the back of the chair, making the couch sink. Every time he saw Mom, he was like this—losing his cool. He held his breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing, though he tried not to show it.

The coffee’s rich aroma filled the room, but the tension was even thicker. I looked at Mom. Oh, she wore a plain little white dress. But after a moment, Dad closed his eyes and went back to normal. He glanced indifferently at Samantha. “I don’t like coffee.”

She paused. “You used to like it.”

“That was before.”

His words hung in the air like a slap. Samantha’s cheeks flushed red, but she kept stirring her coffee, pretending not to care.

Grandma tried to smooth things over for Samantha. “People change. You just got back, it’s normal not to know. You two have history. After marriage, you’ll get to know each other better.”

Aunt Sherry snorted. “We’re not here to watch your little soap opera.”

She crossed her arms, lips pursed, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Everyone snapped back to business and called Mr. Lewis in. He respectfully called my mom “Mrs. Foster.” Grandma glared at him. “Soon she won’t be. Why are you calling her that?”

The spoiled kid went to hug Samantha’s leg. “This is my aunt. Aunt, you smell so nice and are so pretty.”

Samantha smiled provocatively, though her eyes flashed with disgust at being touched by a snot-nosed kid. She signaled Mr. Lewis. “Let’s get this over with. Mom picked a good day. Just these few days—can’t wait.”

She smoothed her skirt and checked her lipstick in the oven’s reflection, clearly rehearsing for the role of perfect daughter-in-law.

He nodded. “Who takes care of the child?”

Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Evans raised their hands. “Me.”

“Housework, like laundry and cooking?”

Mrs. Chen raised her hand. “Me.”

“House maintenance—did Mrs. Foster help?”

“No.”

“Homework help for the child?”

Mrs. Carter said, “That’s Mr. Foster.”

She saw the chaos every day.

Mr. Lewis licked his lips. “So what exactly has Mrs. Foster done?”

Everyone fell silent.

Mrs. Carter racked her brains. What had she done… It seemed even getting up and brushing her teeth, Mr. Foster carried her down. Mrs. Evans interjected, “Actually, Mrs. Foster did a lot.”

Mr. Lewis respectfully turned to her. “Please, go ahead.”

She counted on her fingers, “When Mr. Foster cooked, she picked vegetables. When Mr. Foster mopped the floor, she wiped his sweat. After Lily was born, she nursed her for four days, getting up several times a night. When Mr. Foster carried Lily to calm her down, she poured water for him. Also, all the fish at home were cleaned by her.”

...Mr. Lewis looked over. “This… it seems there’s no way to compensate Mrs. Foster for anything.”

The room got quiet, except for the faint sound of the AC humming overhead. Grandma looked at us coldly, satisfied. “You’ve enjoyed the Foster family’s comforts for so many years. It’s good we’re not charging you. Alright, here’s the agreement—not a dime for you. Take the child and leave with nothing.”

She turned to Dad. “Son, any objections?”

Dad said flatly, “Whatever.”

His gaze landed on the angry red mark on Mom’s collarbone, his eyes showing a look of satisfaction. I remembered that spot—it seemed he’d left it himself. Ugh, jerk. He bullies Mom and still admires his own handiwork.

Everyone was in a great mood. Only Samantha’s hand kept shaking, her knuckles white, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow, as if the family victory party wasn’t going quite the way she’d dreamed. But in the silence, I realized: not everyone in this room was as sure of their victory as they pretended.