"Don't!"
Clara pushed me aside and hurried to stop Victor, smiling as she said, "You're just in time. Sit down and eat with us."
Her earlier rage was gone—she had become as gentle as water.
Once, that gentleness was mine alone. After she and Victor sat at the table, she glanced at me and said, "You're so thoughtful. You know I love roast goose."
The message was clear: I wasn’t attentive enough, didn’t understand her enough.
But since our marriage,
I’ve been able to guess what clothes and jewelry she wanted in ten seconds.
Which colors she favored and which food she avoided.
More than that, I could instantly tell you which client details she needed.
I knew it all.
And once, she despised roast goose, saying it was too greasy. Now she claimed to love it.
Maybe this is what happens—when you love someone, you also love their dog.
"If you pay attention in life, you’ll see."
Victor smiled and pulled out a bottle of medicinal wine worth a few dozen dollars.
"Uncle, try it. I bought this just for you."
He poured my father-in-law a full glass.
"Delicious!"
"A thousand times better than what I usually drink!"
My father-in-law downed it, praising it non-stop. My fists clenched.
I usually bought him Macallan 30-Year-Old and Louis XIII Cognac, yet he claimed they weren’t as good as this cheap wine.
Then Victor produced a face mask for my mother-in-law.
Despite his exaggerated praise of whitening and moisturizing,
I saw instantly it was a worthless street-stall product.
She must have seen it too, yet she smiled brightly and said, "With a son-in-law like Victor, anyone would be lucky."
It was obvious.
Their words were aimed at me, cutting me down while praising him.
They wanted me to feel small.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. My chest pounded—I flipped the table!
Everyone was stunned.
Clara immediately roared, "Amelia, what’s wrong with you now?"
My in-laws’ faces sank, convinced I was being overbearing. "Yes! I’m having a seizure! I’m having one now! Hahaha..."
I laughed wildly, smashing my new TV and stabbing my new sofa with scissors.
I stormed into the bedroom, dragged out every designer bag I’d bought for Clara, and slashed them open before her eyes.
My in-laws kept their distance, afraid I might strike them.
"Amelia."
"Calm down, we can talk!"
Victor wanted to rush forward, but Clara stopped him.
"Don’t go."
"He’s crazy right now—don’t let him hurt you."
Hearing this, I suddenly felt empty and dropped everything.
"Have you had enough?"
Clara looked at me coolly, drew a long breath, and said, "We’re going to the theater. You clean the living room."
Her tone was commanding. She clearly assumed I’d vented my anger and that was the end of it.
I turned in silence and walked toward the bedroom.
"Clara, why not bring Amelia along?"
Victor rubbed his nose awkwardly. "I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe it’ll calm him."
Despite his innocent look, he was clearly pleased.
"It’s fine. That’s just him—trying to get my attention."
Clara shook her head and smiled. "Besides, what does he know about theater?"
As she said this, her gaze lingered on my back, her eyes wandering.
