Chapter 3

Because of this baby, my life was turned completely upside down.

The moment we walked through the door, Brenda headed straight for our master bedroom.

"This room is nice and big, has great sunlight, and a king-sized bed. Perfect for us."

I took a step forward to stop her.

Ethan quickly pulled me back.

"Babe, it’s just for a month. Let them have it. For the sake of peace, let’s not fight over this."

Fine. I would endure it.

Richard didn't lift a finger. He sat straight down on our sofa, turned on the TV, and didn't say a word.

Ethan and I had to unpack all their bags, make the bed, and arrange the baby stuff.

We worked for over an hour.

During that time, Richard didn't move an inch. He actually ordered Ethan to pour him water twice and wash some fruit for him.

He was acting like a king in my own home.

"When is dinner ready? Are you trying to starve me?" Richard grumbled.

That did it. I grabbed the remote and slammed the TV off.

Ethan quickly stepped between us.

"Dad, we’re really busy here. Why don't you go downstairs and grab some takeout? We haven't eaten either."

Richard held out his hand.

"Give me cash."

Ethan pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it over to get rid of him.

I went into the kitchen to make some simple oatmeal.

Just then, the baby woke up and started wailing.

I didn't know how Brenda was soothing him, but the crying wouldn't stop.

I couldn't help but walk over to check.

Brenda was holding the baby, clumsily patting his back, but the baby was screaming hysterically.

"Brenda, is he hungry?"

"Uh... I don't know," she muttered.

She didn't know? Her son Ethan was thirty years old, and she didn't know how to tell if a baby was hungry?

This family was utterly useless.

"Ethan! Go make some formula!" I called out and walked away.

They were clearly trying to bait me into taking care of the baby, but I wasn't going to fall for it.

Soon, I heard Brenda's voice from the room. "Oh, Ethan, you’re a man. How do you know how to do these things?"

I ignored it, shut the kitchen door, and focused on cooking.

They could play their games all they wanted, but I was going to eat and go to work.

They had calculated everything. But if I refused to play along, let’s see what they would do.

I made up my mind right then. For the next month, I would work late every single day. I was not touching that baby.

I quickly made a vegetable soup, fried some rice, and set the table.

As I went to call them for dinner, I heard Brenda whispering to Ethan.

"Ethan, she's not helping at all. What do we do? You can't expect me to actually look after this kid. My back is killing me."

"Mom, give it time. Don't rush. Stella isn't heartless. Once she sees how much you're struggling, she’ll step in. Don't worry."

*Wow. Thank you, Ethan. So because I’m not 'heartless,' I’m supposed to play maid to your whole family?*

I didn't even bother calling them to eat. I ate my portion, packed my bag, and got ready for work.

Just then, Richard finally returned.

It took him longer to buy takeout than it took me to cook a meal.

He was holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a box of fried chicken, and some sides in the other.

He was incredibly selfish.

"Richard, my mother-in-law can't eat fried chicken and heavy food right now."

"Hmph! That's what you're here for, isn't it? You expect an old man like me to cook for her?"

I didn't even want to look at him.

I walked to the bedroom. "Ethan, I’m leaving. I have a lot of work to finish at the office this afternoon."

The door flew open. "Babe, wait! I have to go to work this afternoon too!"

"And? I already made dinner. Your mom can eat that."

Ethan’s face instantly brightened. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my cheek.

"You’re the best, babe. Thank you so much."

I gave him a tight smile and left.

At that moment, I was incredibly grateful that I had a career.

When we first got married, Ethan’s family tried to pressure me to quit my job and focus on getting pregnant.

I refused. Having a job didn't stop me from getting pregnant. Plus, we were young, and there was no rush.

His parents had been extremely passive-aggressive about it—until I showed them my pay stub.

I made a third more than Ethan.

Before that, Ethan made $9,000 a month, which his parents bragged about to all their relatives, acting like I had struck gold by marrying him.

But when they saw my $12,000 monthly income, they finally shut up.