Chapter 2

The day I was discharged, Tom didn't come.

He only sent a message: [Meeting came up. Driver's downstairs. Don't go around looking miserable, you'll worry your parents.]

By the time we got back to the house, it was already dark.

My mother carried the baby inside.

My father hauled the luggage, his foot still hurt, and with every step the hem of his pant leg dragged against the gauze.

The moment the door opened, my mother froze.

The luggage that had been in the first-floor maid's room was all piled at the basement door.

The old woven bag lay tipped over, my father's pill case had fallen and spilled tablets across the floor.

A sticky note was stuck to the door.

[Sir, ma'am, Yuna's allergies have been acting up lately, so upstairs needs to stay ventilated. The basement is quiet, so it'll be easier for you to rest down there!]

My father bent to pick up the pills.

Tom came down from upstairs, a bowl of the nourishing tonic in his hands.

I glanced at it.

"For me?"

He paused.

"Yuna didn't sleep well last night. Her throat's sore."

Yuna leaned her head out from the second-floor guest room, a pale pink shawl draped over her shoulders.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I wanted to give it to you, but Tom said you just got out of the hospital, so the chicken soup would be better for you first."

Tom frowned.

"Why are you explaining yourself? It's not like she can't understand plain speech."

I looked at the luggage at the basement door.

"Who told you to move my parents' things?"

Yuna bit her lip. "It really is just my allergies."

I asked Tom, "So that means my parents can live in the basement?"

"Maggie, is there any hardship they haven't been through? The basement isn't a pigsty. Don't make it sound so ugly."

My father straightened up at once.

"It's fine, we can stay anywhere. Maggie just got out of the hospital, don't argue."

My mother tugged at my sleeve too.

"The basement's fine, it's cool down there."

I looked down at the baby in her arms.

Such a tiny bundle, and he hadn't even had a proper crib to sleep in.

And in Yuna's guest room, fresh linens, an aroma diffuser burning, white roses on the windowsill.

I asked, "Tom, where's the baby sleeping?"

"The master bedroom, obviously."

"I just had a C-section. At night I have to feed him, change his diapers. Are you going to get up in the night?"

Tom said nothing.

Yuna spoke up right away. "I can help you. Tom has to see clients tomorrow, he can't stay up all night."

I looked at her.

"Didn't you not sleep well last night?"

Yuna's face went stiff.

Tom set the tonic down on the table.

"Do you have to be this snide about everything?"

I took the baby and turned to go down to the basement.

My mother panicked.

"Maggie, you can't stay down there!"

"If my parents can, why can't I?"

The basement door opened and the damp smell hit me full in the face.

Mold stained the corner of the wall, the window was no bigger than a palm, and mops and a cleaning bucket were heaped beside the folding bed.

My mother stood in the doorway, and the tears came at once.

"We'll stay, we'll stay, you go back up."

I set my bag down by the bed.

"Mom, from today on, wherever you two live, that's where I live."

Tom stood at the top of the stairs, his face dark.

"Maggie, don't use the baby to sulk at me."

"So you do know the baby's in my arms?"

From upstairs, Yuna said softly, "Tom, does she think I've taken her place? Maybe I really should just go."

Tom turned to look at her, and his tone softened instantly.

"No one's telling you to go."

Then he looked at me.

"Stay down there if you want. But when you're cold, don't come crying in the middle of the night for me to carry you back up."

I really had been like that, once.

After we fought I'd stubbornly sleep on the couch, wake up cold in the night, and when he came to hold me I'd lean back into his arms.

The next morning he'd kiss my forehead and say, "See? You can't even sleep right without me."

Back then I thought it was sweet.

Only now does it feel cheap.

In the middle of the night, the baby suddenly spiked a fever.

My mother, sweat beading on her forehead, carried him upstairs at a rush.

"Maggie, where's the thermometer? Where are the fever patches?"

My incision hurt too much to get up, so I could only brace myself against the wall and climb.

My mother had just pushed open the second-floor storage room when Yuna started shrieking.

"Ma'am! Why are you going through my things?"

Tom came out of the master bedroom, his face grim.

My mother flinched back.

"I was looking for the baby's medicine, I didn't know this was hers—"

Yuna clutched her chest, and the tears fell at once.

"I have private things in my bag. Even if you were in a hurry, you can't just go through it without asking."

I gripped the stair rail, my voice shaking.

"The baby has a fever."

Tom came over and touched the baby's forehead.

"He does feel a little warm."

I thought he would finally be alarmed.

The next second, he turned to look at Yuna instead.

"Stop crying. Your allergies aren't better yet, and if you get worked up you'll start wheezing again."

He dug a temperature gun out of the drawer and handed it to me.

"You two take his temperature first. I'll walk Yuna back to her room."

I watched him leave, one arm around Yuna, and it hit me all at once.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to take care of people.

He had just never once put me and the baby first.