Matters within a marriage aren’t so easily explained.
Maybelle was still young—she didn't understand these things and only ended up stirring the pot.
Once she left, I finally turned to my son with a frown and asked, "Why does Rochelle need that much money?"
My son paused for a moment before replying, "She said her younger brother is getting married, but they don’t have enough for the house, car, and dowry. She wants me, as her brother's brother-in-law, to chip in."
But I remembered clearly—Rochelle came from a small county town. Buying a house and a car there wouldn't cost anywhere near that much.
And this wasn’t the first time she’d asked for money.
It was always something—renovating the family home, her parents’ medical expenses—adding up to several million dollars over time.
Any time we hesitated, Rochelle would trot out the same line.
"Come on, we’re family. Don’t be so stingy. Worst case, my brother will pay you back someday."
But of course, that day never came.
I sighed deeply and said with sincere gravity, "Maybelle is not wrong. It’s true that money isn’t an issue for us, but everything must have limits. If we keep giving in, she’ll only become more greedy."
"But this is your household matter. As your mother, I won’t interfere too much. You’ll have to make your own judgment."
My son nodded.
After a week of back-and-forth, he finally settled with Rochelle for one million dollars.
When Rochelle returned home with my grandson, her face remained cold, as if I owed her money.
I heard she was unhappy with the amount, but life at her parents’ place wasn’t comfortable—her brother constantly gave her the cold shoulder—so she had no choice but to come back.
Yet upon her return, my son didn’t treat her kindly either.
He worked overtime almost every day, and when he did come home, he reeked of alcohol and slept in the guest room. He didn’t even bother to look at Rochelle or the child.
Oddly enough, Rochelle acted like this was all perfectly normal.
I couldn’t help but feel something was off.
Back then, when she got pregnant before marriage, it was my son who insisted on marrying her. Their relationship used to be so loving.
How had it turned so cold in less than a year?
It was all too strange.
Still, it was their marriage—I couldn’t interfere too much.
But then, something unexpected happened again, just a few days later.
I was in a meeting at the company when I suddenly received a call from our housekeeper.
“Ma’am, it’s bad—Miss Maybelle has been attacked! Please come to the hospital right away!”
My heart dropped.
I immediately dropped everything and drove to the hospital.
The moment I stepped into the emergency room, I saw a nurse bandaging Maybelle’s wound.
The gash was so deep that she needed seven or eight stitches.
Blood-soaked gauze filled the tray beside her—it was a horrifying sight.
Rochelle was there too, looking visibly uneasy.
As soon as Maybelle saw me, tears began to roll down her cheeks.
I was shaking with rage.
“Maybelle, who did this to you?!”
Her lips moved, but her face was pale and she couldn’t utter a word.
The nurse explained that she was too traumatized and had injured her throat—her voice would return after a few days of rest.
That only made my anger surge further.
“Mona, tell me what happened!” I barked at the housekeeper.
She stammered for a while before finally speaking.
“Ma’am, here’s what happened. While Miss Maybelle was out, Miss Rochelle sneaked into her room and took the new earrings you just gave her. Miss Maybelle caught her red-handed, and the two of them got into an argument. When Miss Maybelle demanded an apology and threatened to call the police, Miss Rochelle panicked—she slapped her and then shoved her. Miss Maybelle lost her balance and fell down the stairs. Her head hit the glass hard, and there was a lot of bleeding...”
Before she could finish, Rochelle anxiously cut in to defend herself.
