I Earn Mom's Love, It's Free for My Brother

Mom always said she wanted to be a good mother-in-law. Only then would her future daughter-in-law willingly take care of her in her old age.

But every time she got sick, even with something minor, neither my brother nor his wife ever lifted a finger to help.

Still, Mom thought they were good people. To her, they were family.

And me? I was like an outsider.

Mom could spend my money without a hint of guilt. No matter how much I gave or sacrificed, in her eyes, it was always something I ought to do.

When she saw that I had no intention of apologizing, she clutched her chest and pretended to faint, collapsing dramatically onto the floor.

It was her usual trick, one she’d used countless times to make me back down. But not this time.

Buck barked at me in a panic. “Look at what you’ve done! You’ve made Mom faint! Hurry and take her to the hospital!”

I threw him a cold glance. “This time, it’s your turn to take care of her.”

With that, I turned and walked away.

Behind me, Ethel shouted, “I’ve never seen anyone as heartless as you! Ignoring your own mother?! Do you even have a conscience?”

A sudden gust of wind swept through the yard. Though the sun still blazed high above, I felt a chill crawling up my spine.

No matter how harshly the sunlight beat down on me, the cold in my chest wouldn’t fade. The sadness was so deep that not even the summer heat could warm it.

That night, Mom mentioned me in the family group chat, launching into a lecture about morality and virtue, accusing me of being unfilial between the lines.

The so-called peacemakers in the group chimed in one after another, preaching about how I should apologize to my mother and my sister-in-law, as if they were teaching me how to be a decent human being.

I quit the group chat without hesitation.

For a moment, the world went completely silent.

But I didn’t expect that the next day, Mom would call my ex-husband to complain about how “immature and disobedient” I was.

That’s how she found out I was divorced.

I had gotten the divorce certificate just the day before Thanksgiving… after catching my husband in bed with another woman.

When I confronted them, he hit me. He actually did for his damn mistress.

I had wanted to tell Mom about the divorce right away, but she was hospitalized at the time.

Worried about her health, I decided to wait until she recovered.

But while I was at work one afternoon, she suddenly burst into my office, half crying and half furious, grabbing me by the collar.

“You useless child!” she shouted, her voice trembling. “Who told you to get divorced? Where are you even living now? Who’s going to take care of you?”

Then came the command—sharp and humiliating.

“Go and apologize to your husband right now! Beg him to take you back! My reputation is ruined because of you! Do you ever stop causing me trouble?”

I stared at her in a daze.

This was the woman I had loved for so long.

She had once been gentle, or at least pretended to be. She had given me clothes to wear, food to eat, and books to read—the bare minimum, yes.

But because of those small things, I tried so hard to be a responsible daughter.

Yet to her, my dignity and my happiness—none of it mattered as much as her reputation.

“It was he who cheated,” I said quietly. “Not me.”

The next second, her hand came down hard across my cheek, the sound echoing. Her furious face loomed before me, every wrinkle twisted in rage.

“So what if he cheated?” she shouted. “It’s not the end of the world! If he cheated, that just means he’s capable!”

Her words struck me harder than her slap ever could.

She jabbed a finger at me, her voice shaking with anger. “You went and divorced him. Did you even think about your sister-in-law?”

She huffed. “He promised last month to help your sister-in-law find an easy job! Now that you’ve divorced him, how is she supposed to get it? How could you do this to her?”

And just like that, I understood. All of this—her fury, her slap, her humiliation—was just for her beloved daughter-in-law.

In other words, my happiness was worth less to her than Ethel’s job.

Something in me snapped. I no longer cared about anyone’s disapproving stares or gasps.

I shouted, accusing her of being a bad mother.

“For your daughter-in-law’s sake, my happiness doesn’t matter?

“You’re a wonderful mother-in-law—the best in the world, even. But to me, you’re a terrible mother!

“You’re just like every mother who only values her sons—a parasite, sucking the life out of her daughter to feed her precious son’s family!

“When you were in the hospital, who paid your bills? Who stayed by your side day and night? It was me!

“When you needed living expenses or someone to check on you, who was always there? It was me!”