On Children's Day.
The gift my husband gave our daughter was a "heart" shaped out of the leftover white rice from his lunch.
Meanwhile, the poor mother and son he sponsored received a whole luxury riverside apartment.
Roberta Simmons showed it off on her social media feed:
【Thank you to my wonderful big brother for the gift you gave my son. Kevin loves it so much.】
My husband was the first to comment.
【A good environment helps a child grow. It's a joy to help others, so don't give it a second thought.】
Something bitter twisted in my chest.
Ever since my husband started supporting Roberta and her son, my daughter and I had been living in poverty.
Our home was faculty housing without even a bathroom of its own.
The clothes my daughter wore were secondhand finds from the thrift market.
My skincare was the freebie samples Roberta didn't want.
I'd argued with him about it more times than I could count, but he always put on that noble, righteous face.
"Roberta has it hard enough raising her son alone. Helping them is a good deed."
"Besides, poor kids grow up faster. A little hardship will toughen our daughter up!"
"Every other man's wife can handle hard work and hardship. Why are you the only one who makes a fuss?"
My daughter held back her tears, still forcing a smile to comfort me.
"Cynthia Delgado's really happy. Cynthia loves everything Daddy gives me."
Watching my daughter swallow her hurt to keep the peace, my heart went completely cold.
I quietly tapped "like" on Roberta's post.
This cheap kind of love, I didn't want it anymore.
……
The door slammed open with a bang.
Hubert Delgado stormed in, his shirt collar yanked open.
He pointed at me and yelled:
"What's gotten into you? Who said you could like her post?"
"Roberta thought you were angry. She felt so guilty she cried, and now she flat-out refuses to take the apartment I bought her."
"You won't be satisfied until you've driven a widow and her son out onto the street, will you?"
The more he talked, the more worked up he got.
The next second, his arm shot up.
He flipped the whole battered, paint-chipped old wooden table over.
Crash—
The white rice smashed across the concrete floor, grains scattering everywhere.
My daughter flinched, her whole body shaking with fright.
She clamped her hands over her ears and hid behind me, sobbing.
Hubert froze, some of the clarity coming back into his eyes.
Then he shot me a look of disgust:
"It's a holiday, and you just have to make everyone miserable!"
"Always looking for trouble!"
I let my cold gaze sweep over the mess on the floor. My voice was soft, but it carried a bone-deep chill:
"So this is your daughter's Children's Day gift?"
"Leftover white rice."
Hubert's eyes darted away, a flash of guilt crossing his face.
But an instant later he stiffened his neck again, putting on that same self-righteous show.
"What's wrong with white rice? It's your materialistic nonsense that's spoiled the two of you rotten!"
"Do you have any idea how many kids in the mountains never taste a single bite of white rice their whole lives?"
"I'm tempering her spirit!"
"Or should I raise our daughter to be like you, some greedy woman who only knows how to take?"
I stared blankly at this man I'd loved for seven years.
Suddenly he felt like a stranger.
There had been a time when he remembered the desserts I loved.
When he'd secretly prepare a princess dress for Cynthia's birthday.
But ever since three years ago.
Ever since he started supporting Roberta, we hadn't had a single good day in this house.
To pay off Roberta's debts, he sold our three-bedroom place in the city.
He moved our daughter and me into an old school dormitory without a private bathroom.
To save money for limited-edition sneakers for Roberta's son.
Every piece of clothing he gave Cynthia was a secondhand thrift-market find, one outfit worn for three years straight.
To buy Roberta luxury skincare, everything I used was the freebie sample sachets she'd tossed aside.
