Abner looked at me, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face.
After a long pause, he seemed to steel himself:
"Lorraine, I know you put your heart into this master bedroom. The bed, the decor, every little detail. I know how much it means to you."
"And honestly, we just got married. Giving up the master bedroom does seem a bit much."
"But she's my sister."
"She's been overseas for three years. She's finally back for a visit, and as her brother, I should make her feel welcome."
"They're only staying two nights. We can squeeze into the guest room. It's not a big deal, right?"
There it was again.
Not a big deal.
Selling the washing machine was not a big deal. Getting dragged out of bed at five in the morning to hand-wash the whole family's laundry was not a big deal. Giving up the master bedroom was not a big deal.
Nothing was ever a big deal.
That was his answer. Every single time.
Looking at that casual, unbothered expression on Abner's face, the last shred of hope I had for this man dissolved into nothing.
I didn't argue. Didn't raise my voice. I smiled and nodded.
"Sure."
"Whatever you say."
Agnes's face lit up the moment I agreed, satisfaction spreading across her features:
"Now that's more like it. See, Lorraine? I knew you'd make a proper daughter-in-law."
Abner exhaled in relief, looking at me with warm approval:
"Babe, you're so understanding. I'm a lucky man to have married someone as considerate as you."
I smiled. Said nothing.
Agnes surveyed our master bedroom, then added one more instruction:
"Lorraine, make sure you tidy this room up properly. Fresh sheets on the bed, bathroom scrubbed clean, new towels and washcloths set out. My daughter has sensitive skin. Everything needs to be the best and brand new."
"And lunch. My daughter and her husband love seafood. I want you to put together a full seafood spread for this afternoon."
At that, Abner frowned slightly, hesitating:
"Mom, Lorraine is severely allergic to shellfish. She can't touch the stuff."
Agnes waved him off without a shred of concern:
"So what? She can wear rubber gloves. It's not like I'm asking her to eat it."
Last year, for Abner's birthday, I'd tried to make his favorite crab roe noodles. I peeled two crabs as carefully as I could.
Within ten minutes, my fingers were swollen and red. Then the hives spread across my entire body.
By the time Abner got me to the ER, the doctor warned me in no uncertain terms: never touch shellfish again. Next time could be fatal.
That night, Abner held me in the hospital room until morning, guilt-ridden and tender, and swore:
"I will never let anyone make you touch seafood again. Anyone who tries can answer to me."
But now, faced with his mother's demand, he hesitated for exactly two seconds before leaning in and murmuring:
"Just wear a few extra layers of gloves, okay? And a mask. And an apron. Be careful. Try not to let it touch your skin."
His hollow precautions didn't surprise me.
"Sure."
Once all the orders had been handed down, Agnes and Abner got ready and headed out.
Before the door closed, Agnes turned back one last time:
"Lorraine, a married woman's first priority is her husband's family. Take good care of your mother-in-law and everyone under this roof, and this family will thrive. You understand?"
I nodded, a faint smile on my lips.
"Don't worry. I understand."
Agnes gave me one last satisfied look, then shut the door. She and Abner left together.
I stood alone in the living room. My eyes drifted to the basket of dirty laundry, then to the master bedroom.
Then I took out my phone and dialed a number.
