It was old, yellowed rice mixed with dried fish heads and sharp bones—something you wouldn’t serve to anyone.
My whole body went cold.
I had been sending my mother money every month.
So why… was my wife eating this?
The silence in the kitchen felt suffocating.
I looked at the bowl again, then back at Lily.
“What is this…?” I asked quietly.
She said nothing.
Her hands trembled.
“Lily,” I said, firmer now. “Why are you eating this?”
She lowered her head. “It’s nothing… I was just hungry.”
Something inside me snapped.
“Don’t lie to me!”
My voice echoed louder than I intended.
She flinched. The baby stirred in the other room, then went quiet again.
I took a breath.
“I send money every month. There’s food here. My mom is supposed to take care of you. So why are you eating this?”
Lily pressed her lips together, then finally a tear fell.
“Because…” she whispered, “…that’s what they let me eat.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
