My mother always drilled one idea into me: you have to maintain a fiercely high sense of deservingness. When I was in school, some wannabe copycat roommate intentionally bought the same jacket as me, then had the nerve to ask if it made her look fat. I just shook my head. “Wouldn’t know, darling. My body is divine.” Later, after I started working, a male colleague was pursuing me. I casually mentioned I was taken. He looked at me with genuine anguish, asking if I might consider him if I ever broke up with my boyfriend. I gave him a chilly smile. “Clearly, you don't love me enough. Otherwise, you’d be petitioning for the mistress position right now.” Because of my ridiculously high self-worth, they all secretly called me an entitled bitch behind my back, saying I didn't know my place or who I thought I was. Until the day my blind date heard about my "flaw" and immediately insisted on taking me home for the New Year's holiday to meet his parents. “My mother is obsessed with self-sacrifice. She’s constantly saying she doesn’t deserve anything good. I’m being driven crazy by it.” “If you can cure her of that toxic habit, I’ll give you anything you ask for.” The request was certainly novel. I patted my chest. “Don't worry. You’ve got yourself a deal.” 1 Garrett Stone sat across from me in the café, his expression laced with worry. “My apologies, Ms. Hawthorne. This coffee shop was a last-minute choice; it’s a bit basic. Hope you can overlook it.” I glanced around the slightly generic, stripped-down space. “It is a bit basic. Good thing you recognize it.” Other dates would have immediately scowled and demanded we split the check. Instead, Garrett's eyes seemed to light up, as if genuinely relieved. “Ms. Hawthorne, I won't waste your time. I heard everything from the matchmaker. You perfectly fit my requirements, and I was hoping you’d be willing to spend New Year’s with me, meeting my family.” The speed was unsettling. I rejected him without thinking. Garrett’s face fell for a moment, then he let out a bitter laugh. “I’ll be honest with you. While I run a company that brings in eight figures a year, my mother is tormenting me. I genuinely need someone like you to shock her out of it.” That caught my interest. I leaned forward and listened as he laid out the problem. Garrett’s father died when he was young. Growing up in a small town, his mother, Martha, and he were easily bullied as a single-parent family. This forced her into a habit of extreme frugality—pinching every penny until it screamed. But while that was necessary when they were poor, it had become a perverse affliction now that Garrett was a major success, running his own firm. Garrett took her on a European trip, and she refused to spend a dime. Instead, she brought two dozen stale dinner rolls from the States and subsisted on them, washed down with plain hot water. He bought her expensive bird’s nest and ginseng to boost her health. She hoarded it, refusing to eat it because she “didn’t deserve it,” until it went moldy. Then, she decided to cook the spoiled stuff for Garrett, sending him to the hospital with acute gastroenteritis for two weeks. Exhausted and at his wit's end, Garrett asked her why. She’d just look tearful and say, “These wonderful things are for you. I’m just an old woman. I don’t deserve to eat such luxury.” It was unbelievable. A successful CEO with a mother who lived like a pauper. And every time Garrett tried to correct her, the rest of the family—the extended relatives—would instantly accuse him of being an ungrateful, unfilial son. “That’s why I need you. You’re the only person who can help. Ms. Hawthorne, please. If you can break her of this awful habit, I’ll give you a million dollars. No, five million. How about five million?” I wasn't doing it just for the money. The sheer challenge was exhilarating. “I’ll help you. But if your mother has a stroke or a heart attack, I claim no liability.” Garrett nodded grimly. “I’d rather her have a heart attack than die of food poisoning from eating a sprouted potato or a moldy apple.” 2 Words mean nothing without paper. After we signed the legal agreement, Garrett immediately took me to a high-end department store and bought me several luxurious outfits, all on his card. The day before New Year’s Eve, Garrett and I drove to his house. The first thing he did after becoming a big shot was buy his mother a mansion outside the city. We stood on the threshold. Garrett took a deep breath and looked at me. “Prepare yourself, Ms. Hawthorne.” He pushed the door open. Instead of the opulent, clean interior I expected, the vast foyer was crammed with stacks of cardboard boxes and plastic water bottles. A faint, cloying stench permeated the air. My smile froze. A grand mansion, used as a recycling depot. The old woman certainly had peculiar hobbies. “Now you know how terrifying my mother is,” Garrett whispered, his voice low. “Garrett’s home!” His mother, Martha Stone, emerged from the interior. She was dressed simply in worn-out sweats and had a free supermarket apron tied around her waist. She looked less like the lady of the house and more like the cleaning lady. “Mom. Meet my girlfriend, Bella.” We’d decided to drop the initial 'Jewel' name and just stick with my first name. I offered a polite, practiced smile. “Hello, Martha. This is a little gift for you.” “Oh, you shouldn’t have, dear. Why spend money? An old woman like me doesn’t need anything. Come in, come in.” Martha led me inside, apologizing as she went. “I’m so sorry about the mess. Please don’t mind it.” This huge, expensive villa, completely wasted on garbage. I couldn't tolerate it. I immediately took her bait. “It is messy, yes. Honestly, I thought I’d wandered into a transfer station.” I looked back at Garrett, my expression hardening. “This doesn't exactly feel welcoming, Garrett. Are you sending me a message by having your house full of garbage? I swear, I’ll call my father right now!” (Garrett and I had agreed that my current identity would be the daughter of a key business partner, a high-stakes heiress—that would give me the necessary leverage). Garrett immediately played along, turning to his mother. “Mom! What is this? I told you to stop hoarding junk in the house!” “It’s not junk! This all sells! It's valuable. You young people just don’t understand thrift,” Martha grumbled, genuinely upset. “Call someone now and get this cleaned up. I will not spend the New Year holiday in a trash heap.” I pulled out my phone to contact a cleaning service. “No, wait! You can’t throw it away! That’s all money!” Martha rushed forward to stop me. Garrett held her back. “Mom, this is the daughter of Mr. Hawthorne. Don’t upset her. Her dad could ruin me with one call. We’d lose the villa, and you’d be back to scavenging for the rest of your life!” A cleaning crew quickly arrived, bringing a huge truck. A team of people worked from daylight until dark, finally clearing out every piece of refuse. Martha stood by, watching the empty, echoing space, as if the very life was being drained out of her soul. I turned my gaze to Martha and twisted the knife. I said deliberately, “Auntie, this time I’ll forgive it. But don’t ever hoard trash again. Once I move in, this house will stay immaculate. I don’t tolerate dirt.” “This is an outrage. The daughter-in-law is already riding roughshod over the mother-in-law,” Martha muttered, glaring at me. I pretended not to hear her. This is just the appetizer, old woman. 3 Soon, it was time for dinner. Garrett quietly reminded me to only touch the stir-fried greens—nothing else. I sat down. At first glance, the New Year’s feast looked decent: meat, vegetables, even seafood. But a closer look revealed the horror show. In the center of the table was a platter with what looked like a King Crab. It was visibly blackened, the meat mushy and loose—clearly spoiled. Several other dishes were unrecognizable, stewed into a murky sludge. It was impossible to tell if they were days or weeks old. The fish, a holiday centerpiece, was reduced to a bare skeleton. All the meat was gone. Why it was even on the table was a mystery. Perhaps realizing I was not to be messed with, Martha spun the lazy Susan, putting the spoiled meat dishes in front of me. “This King Crab has been saved just for today. You eat it, dear. I’ll just have some of the leftovers.” “Mom! Those pig trotters are from Christmas Eve! You haven't thrown them out? They must be rotten!” Garrett tried to take the bowl, but she snatched it back. “I kept them in the back of the fridge. They're fine! You eat the fresh food. I’ll eat these.” The only fresh dish on the table was the sautéed greens. Everything else was ancient. I rolled my eyes. I grabbed Garrett's phone and instantly placed a massive catering order—an $8,888 New Year’s feast—to be delivered immediately. Then I stood up, took the King Crab platter, and marched straight to the trash can. “Auntie, if you have a problem with me, just say so. Don’t try to poison me with a crab that probably died years ago. Your son is a wealthy man. You think it's okay for his girlfriend to eat this garbage on her first visit? People will tear his reputation to shreds!” The moment I opened fire, Garrett backed me up. “She’s right, Mom! Are you even my mother? Are you deliberately trying to sabotage my relationship? I’m thirty years old. I finally found someone, and you want me to die alone just to save a few bucks?” Martha looked like she was about to weep, staring at the King Crab in the bin. She reached in, trying to retrieve it. “It’s good! It’s fine! I’ve been keeping it safe in the freezer for years! It’s still edible!” If I was merely pretending to be angry before, I was genuinely furious now. Zombie meat. She was deliberately trying to kill someone. I exploded. “You tried to feed me a dead crab that’s been sitting around for years? What is wrong with you? Garrett, I swear, I’m breaking up with you right now!” “Mom! Hurry up and dump all these leftovers! Look how upset Bella is! What will her father think of me?” Garrett began scooping the food into the bin. I quickly helped him. To ensure she couldn't retrieve the leftovers, I made sure to spit on every single dish we tossed. That settled it. Even she wouldn't touch it now. Soon, the delivery arrived. A table groaning with fresh, hot, luxurious food. Martha sighed. “Fine. You two eat. I’ll just have a few crackers. I’m an old woman, practically on my deathbed. Why should I eat such rich food?” I didn't bother arguing. I just said, “Suit yourself. But anything we don’t finish tonight, I’m throwing out immediately.” “What?! You’d throw out such expensive food?” Martha’s eyes widened in horror. “That’s how I do things at home. I don’t eat leftovers. It’s unhealthy. Once I marry in, this whole house’s habits change to match mine.” Garrett looked at me with a sickeningly doting expression. “Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you say. Your word is law.” At the mention of the coming waste, Martha quickly abandoned the crackers. She grabbed her chopsticks and loaded her plate, stuffing her face, terrified the food would be claimed by the trash can. “Auntie, have some of this lobster. Otherwise, I’m tossing it.” I spun the platter in front of her. “And this red date and chicken soup. It’s too much for just us two.” Used to eating ancient leftovers, the sudden shock of a lavish, freshly cooked meal hit Martha hard. She ate heartily, a flicker of genuine pleasure returning to her face. 4 That night, Garrett gave me a thumbs-up. “Ms. Hawthorne, you are incredible. You handled my mother perfectly. That’s the first genuinely happy New Year’s dinner we’ve had.” “Get some rest. We have to go visit my father’s grave tomorrow morning.” Garrett was a devoted son. His father was originally buried back in the village, but once Garrett made money, he bought a prime plot in a city cemetery and had him moved. The next morning, we woke up before dawn. I was confused about the early start. Martha explained, “It’s a long walk, miles of mountain road. We have to start early.” I looked out at the garage, which housed seven or eight luxury cars. She intended to walk to the cemetery to save money. “Auntie, my shoes have lambskin soles. They'll be ruined if they get wet. I am absolutely not walking. We’re driving.” Garrett instantly agreed. “She’s right, Mom. Bella’s a delicate flower. She’s always driven everywhere. Just ride with us.” Martha shook her head stubbornly. “Absolutely not. Gas is expensive! I used to walk daily in the village. I’m used to it.” “You young people lack discipline. You ride everywhere; your bodies are atrophying.” I wasn’t going to argue. If she wanted to walk, fine. “Alright, Auntie. You can walk if you like. Garrett and I will drive ahead and wait for you at the entrance.” Before getting into the car, Garrett tried one last time. “Mom, are you really not getting in? The gas price is the same no matter how many people are in the car. Please, just ride with us.” The old woman waved us off, refusing to budge. Garrett was hesitant, but at my insistence, he closed the door and drove away. The car soon arrived at the cemetery gate. Garrett turned off the engine, and we waited for his mother to walk up. But we waited, and waited, and she never appeared. At first, I thought she was just slow. But by nearly noon, there was still no sign of her. Garrett called her phone seven or eight times. No answer. “She probably didn't charge it, to save electricity. She leaves it at home,” Garrett said, frustrated. He tried again. After a few rings, someone finally picked up. “Are you a relative of this number’s owner? She fell on the mountain trail and was brought to our hospital. You need to come quickly.” We immediately forgot the visit and sped off to the hospital. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. If I had walked with her, she wouldn’t have fallen,” Garrett lamented, distraught in the passenger seat. “Forget it. Let her be frugal. I only have one mother. She raised me alone; it wasn’t easy.” The moment Martha was hurt, Garrett was instantly overcome with guilt and softness. This must have been the cycle: he tries to correct her, she hurts herself, he feels guilty and gives up, she repeats the habit. “Ms. Hawthorne, maybe we should end the arrangement. Now that my mother is like this, I just can’t bring myself to be harsh with her.” 5 I had taken the wheel, not wanting an agitated Garrett driving. I stayed silent for a moment before replying. “You need to calm down. This isn't your fault. Even if you were there today, preventing this fall, she’d be in the emergency room next week from eating sprouted potatoes from the pantry.” “Unless you monitor her twenty-four hours a day, this will happen again and again. Also, I don’t mind canceling the contract, but you still owe me the money.” Garrett took a deep swig from a water bottle and finally cooled down. “You’re right. We can’t cancel. Let’s just see her first.” We soon arrived. The nurse told us Martha fell halfway up the mountain. Luckily, a kind passerby found her and brought her in. The checkup revealed a broken tibia. She needed surgery. “The family needs to pay the fees right away. Your mother will be going into surgery soon,” the nurse urged. Garrett instinctively reached for his phone, but I stopped him. “Oh, son, I’m useless. I fall on flat ground. Don’t worry about the surgery. I’ll just rest at home.” “No way, Mom. You need the surgery to heal quickly. Just relax and don’t worry about anything.” I pulled Garrett aside. “Have you always paid for her accidents?” “She only has me. Who else? You have no idea. She’s in the ER every few months from food poisoning or a cut hand from scavenging. I'm practically a VIP here.” The problem was clear. Martha had it easy. No matter how dangerous or toxic her habit was, her son always bailed her out, with no real personal consequence. Of course, she continued. If only he were my son. I took Garrett’s phone and turned to Martha. “Auntie, where is your bank card? Give it to me. I’ll pay. Your son and I are getting married. His money is for my jewelry and my handbags. He transfers you plenty every month, so it’s time you put it to use.” Martha looked at me warily. “How much will the surgery cost?” “I don’t know. I just know that if you had ridden with us this morning, it would have cost you nothing.” Reluctantly, she handed over her card. Garrett and I immediately went to the payment window. He transferred her a substantial allowance every month. She never spent it, so the card should have had tens of thousands of dollars. After we paid the fees, we checked the balance: there was fifty-three dollars and twenty cents left. Garrett, a businessman, was unnerved by the number. He immediately took the card to the bank across the street to check the transaction history. Meanwhile, I returned to the room and, with the nurse’s help, moved Martha from the crowded, common room into the most luxurious private suite. “I was fine in there. The single room is expensive, isn’t it? It must cost a fortune.” “It’s tolerable. We were actually going to move you to a private clinic. Your son is a major CEO, Auntie. If you stay in a common room, where does that leave his reputation? If you won’t think about yourself, at least think of your son.” Though Martha was pathologically self-sacrificing, she truly loved her son. Hearing this, she immediately quieted down. “Well, alright. I suppose this is nice enough.”
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