My voice turned cold in an instant.
"Gold prices are through the roof right now. You bought Grandma Lambert a fifty-gram gold bracelet—that's what, fifty or sixty thousand dollars? A ten-gram gold necklace for Vivian Acevedo, over ten thousand? Even I got an $8,888 skincare set. A hundred-dollar bouquet of flowers is cheap. How is that a waste?"
"How can you even compare those?"
My father shot back without a second's hesitation.
"Your grandmother gave birth to me, raised me. Spending my money on her is only right. Forget fifty thousand—if she wanted every last cent, she'd deserve it."
"Your sister-in-law just gave the Lambert family a big, healthy grandson. She's done this family a great service. Rewarding her is common sense. That ten thousand was money well spent!"
"And you—someday you'll need to land a rich husband. If you don't take care of that face, who's going to look twice at you? Buying you skincare is an investment."
"As for your mother..."
He paused.
His tone was dismissive, casual, dripping with contempt he didn't even bother to hide.
"She's a housewife. All these years, eating my food, living under my roof—what exactly has she contributed that's worth a hundred-dollar bouquet?"
Every drop of color drained from my mother's face.
She slowly lifted her head and looked at my father. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"So in your eyes, my thirty years aren't even worth a hundred dollars."
The hurt in her gaze didn't stir a single ripple in his heart.
He kept his head down, picking at the dishes with his chopsticks, his tone utterly indifferent. "I'm just telling the truth. All you've done these years is stay home, do laundry, cook meals. You haven't earned a dime."
My mother opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something.
But in the end, she closed it again.
My father was satisfied with that.
In his eyes, she had always been like this. No arguments, no fuss, no real pushback. Like a lump of clay, shaped by whatever hands reached for her.
This time would be no different.
He kicked the detergent and gloves at his feet. "Come on, put your gift away. Let's have a nice family dinner. Don't ruin the mood."
My mother stood up obediently.
Everyone assumed she was going to pick up the detergent and those yellow dish gloves.
Even I thought she would swallow it one more time.
But she didn't.
She didn't spare that bottle of detergent a single glance.
She turned and walked into the bedroom.
A minute later, she emerged pulling a small suitcase that had clearly been packed long before tonight.
The wheels rumbled across the floor, filling the silence, and came to a stop right in front of me.
"Desiree, let's go."
Her voice was calm, but her eyes held a resolve I'd never seen before. If not for the redness still rimming them, you'd never have guessed she'd been on the verge of tears moments ago.
The whole family froze.
Grandma was the first one who couldn't sit still.
"Lauren, what do you think you're doing?"
"It's a holiday! Allan got you a gift. What more do you want?"
"So he didn't buy flowers. Is that really worth all this? You have your own money, don't you? Buy them yourself. Why do you have to make everyone miserable?"
Vivian touched the necklace at her throat, looking a little uncomfortable, and chimed in softly:
"Mom, Dad's just bad with words. You've put up with it for thirty years already. There's no need to throw a fit over a bouquet of flowers."
"Besides, he got you detergent and gloves. That's way more practical than flowers. Doesn't that just show he's a down-to-earth kind of guy?"
She even let out a little laugh after she said it.
"Honestly, when I'm older, if my husband bought me stuff like that, I'd be touched."
She tugged at Ian Lambert's sleeve. "Right, babe?"
Ian jumped right in.
"Exactly. Detergent and gloves beat flowers any day."
"You don't earn any money, so maybe spend a little less and save Dad the trouble."
