They never intended to contribute a single thing to this family.
What they needed was a pushover who'd work herself to death without asking for anything in return.
As long as I never asked for money, never said I was tired, never asked for help, I was the perfect daughter-in-law, the perfect wife.
But the moment I actually couldn't hold it together anymore, the moment I wanted them to shoulder even a fraction of the burden, I became dramatic, selfish, ungrateful.
In that moment, every year I'd poured into this family felt like a joke.
While I stood there drowning in bitterness, Clark came running in from the balcony where he'd been playing with his blocks, planted himself in front of me, and said：
“Mommy's bad! I hate Mommy!”
I looked down at his angry little face, cheeks puffed out, and my heart clenched like someone had it in their fist.
This child. I nearly died bringing him into the world.
The morning sickness had been relentless. I couldn't keep anything down. In the first five months alone, I lost fifteen pounds.
The doctor said the baby was measuring behind. So I forced myself to eat, threw it all up, and forced myself to eat again.
At seven months, preeclampsia set in. My legs swelled so badly I could barely walk, gasping for air with every step.
During delivery, I hemorrhaged. They almost lost me.
And now this child I'd traded my life for was standing in front of me, telling me I was bad, telling me he hated me.
I took a deep breath, crouched down, and asked him：
“Clark, how am I a bad mommy?”
He put his hands on his hips and pointed at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world：
“Everyone at kindergarten says Daddy is a great person! My classmates and my teacher! You won't let Daddy be a good person, so you're the bad one!”
“You're a bad mommy! I hate you! I never want to see you again!”
He turned and ran straight to Ervin, throwing his arms around him, refusing to look at me.
A flash of satisfaction crossed Ervin's eyes.
He straightened up, looked at me, and said with open triumph：
“See? Even our own son knows you're in the wrong.”
“You really need to take a hard look at yourself. All you ever talk about is money, money, money. You reek of it. It's embarrassing.”
Four against one. I didn't argue anymore. I just asked Ervin one last time：
“Are you sure you won't put even a small part of your salary toward the household expenses?”
Frances's insulin had run out.
Wayne's heart medication was nearly gone.
Clark's tuition had been overdue for days.
And my account had been drained to zero.
This family needed money to survive.
Ervin looked at me, and all I saw was disgust.
“After everything that's been said, you're still fixated on my money?”
“Fine. Let me put this to rest once and for all.”
He pulled out his phone right there in front of the whole family and tapped through a series of screens.
A few seconds later, he turned the display toward me.
He held the screen up like he was handing down a verdict：
“See that? I just linked my payroll account directly to the charity. Locked in for three years. Can't be changed.”
“From now on, every cent of my salary goes straight to them automatically. So don't even think about touching my paycheck ever again.”
Frances was the first to start clapping：“Ervin, that's exactly right!”
“When you give, you give everything, no safety net. That's what a truly good person does.”
Wayne nodded vigorously, face bright with pride, and gave a thumbs-up：
“That's my boy. Dad's behind you all the way.”
Then he glanced at me, his meaning unmistakable：
“Unlike certain people who've got their heads so far inside a cash register they can't see straight. Money, money, money, that's all they know. Small-minded people like that never amount to anything.”
Clark clapped along, bouncing on his feet：“Daddy's so cool! Daddy's a great person!”
