After seven straight days of overtime, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and die. The second my face sank into the pillow, I heard the click of the lock. “Honey, you must be exhausted. What do you want to eat? Mom will make it for you.” “Mom, I don’t want to eat anything. I just want to sleep.” I pulled the covers over my head, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. But just as I drifted off, the click of the lock jerked me awake again. “Honey, let me make you something. You’ll hurt your stomach if you don’t eat…” I slammed my pillow against the mattress in frustration. “Mom! I’m trying to sleep! Please, stay out.” I thought she’d finally gotten the message. But just as I fell into a deep sleep, I was ripped from it once more. “Sweetheart, just a little something. It’s your favorite chicken noodle soup.” My mother stood over me, holding a steaming bowl… 1 It was five in the morning when I finally got home. Pillow down, covers up. No more nagging clients, no more impossible deadlines. Just me and a long-overdue date with a deep, dreamless sleep. After one hundred and sixty-eight hours of relentless work, the final battle was almost over. All I needed was a few hours of rest, and then a quick presentation in the afternoon would seal the deal. The tightly wound spring in my brain finally uncoiled. All I wanted was to sleep. To ensure I wouldn't be disturbed, I even sent my mom a specific text. 【Mom, please don’t come into my room or wake me up. I’m too tired to eat. I just need to sleep.】 Message sent. I figured I was safe. But just as the soft pillow cradled my head and my entire body relaxed, a faint click made me pry my eyes open. “Honey, you worked so hard. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” My mother stood at the doorway, her voice gentle. Assuming she hadn't seen my text, I yanked the comforter over my head in a flash of irritation. “I’m not eating. I just want to sleep.” The words were barely out before my body gave up, and I passed out from sheer exhaustion. It couldn’t have been long. I was deep in the hazy world of dreams when my mother’s voice sliced through the silence again. “Honey, let me make you something. It’s bad for your stomach to go hungry!” I thrashed under the covers, pounding the pillow in a fit of rage. “Mom!” I yelled, my voice raw with frustration. “I’m sleeping! Stay out!” She retreated, and for a glorious moment, I thought I was finally free to sink back into my dreams. Then she flicked on my bedroom light. The blinding glare shocked me fully awake. My mother stood by my bed as if nothing had happened, a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup in her hands. “Sweetheart, just have a little. It’s my homemade chicken soup. Your favorite.” I took a deep breath. The accumulated anger and exhaustion from the past week surged through me, a white-hot wave threatening to crest. But I held it back. She was just worried about me. I could understand that. I sat up and looked her straight in the eye. “I really don’t need it. I’m not hungry. I just want to get some sleep. Is that so hard to understand?” A note of fury had crept into my voice without my permission. My mother flinched. Her eyes filled with a wounded look, quickly followed by a flash of reproach. “I’m only doing this for your own good. How can you speak to your mother that way?” As she spoke, a tear traced a path down her cheek. For a second, I nearly crumbled under the weight of her tears and the crushing guilt of that phrase: for your own good. But the dull, throbbing pain of being dragged from the depths of sleep was sharper, more real than any emotional blackmail. I looked at her, at the stubborn bowl of soup, at her crocodile tears, and a cold, suffocating exhaustion washed over me, extinguishing the anger completely. Fine. Whatever. I didn't say another word. I didn't even look at her again. Like a puppet with its strings cut, I fell back onto the bed. With the last of my strength, I pulled the comforter over my head, cocooning myself completely, not leaving a single strand of hair exposed. From outside the door, I heard the familiar sound of her suppressed, self-pitying sobs. 2 Finally, I could sleep. I don’t know how long I was out. It felt like sinking into a dark, silent ocean where time ceased to exist. Then, a sliver of light pierced my eyelids, accompanied by the low, chattering murmur of voices. “Oh, just look at how tired she is. Fast asleep. Tsk, tsk, it’s not easy. The company can’t run without her.” That was my mother’s voice. “You’re so lucky, Susan. Your daughter is so successful.” “Shh, quiet now. Let her sleep.” My eyelids were leaden weights, but the unfamiliar, fawning voices of men and women, mixed with my mother’s poorly concealed pride, buzzed around my ears like a swarm of flies. Click. The lock turned again. The sound was softer this time, more cautious. Then, the shuffling of more than one pair of feet tiptoed into my room. The air filled with the alien scents of cheap perfume and powder. “See? Sleeping like a log,” my mother whispered, her voice low but bursting with a pride she wanted to display. “She just finished a huge project. Seven days with barely any sleep! Her boss can’t stop praising her!” “Wow, what a hard worker!” “You’ve raised her so well, Susan!” The whispers of praise continued. I felt like a monkey in a zoo cage, put on display for a crowd. A chilling mix of absurdity, rage, and profound humiliation shot from my toes to the crown of my head. What did they want to see? Me, exhausted to the point of looking like a corpse? Proof that she had raised such a “successful” daughter that even her sleep was a spectacle? Under the covers, my fingers clenched the bedsheet, my nails digging into my palms. But I didn’t move. I didn’t open my eyes. What little rationality I had left was screaming at me: Throw off the covers and tell them to get the hell out! But the crushing exhaustion was a mountain pinning me down. I just wanted them to disappear. The footsteps lingered by my bed for a few moments, their judgmental whispers stabbing at my eardrums. Finally, with sighs of satisfied curiosity, they shuffled back out, and the door clicked shut. The world was quiet again. But it was a tainted quiet, thick with the filth of being invaded and exhibited. I lay in a cold swamp of my own making, my desire for sleep shattered into a million pieces, leaving only an empty shell and a nervous system in ruins. A sharp pain twisted in my stomach. My throat was bone-dry. All that was left was the numb, hollowed-out feeling of being completely drained. It’s okay, I told myself. She’s my mother. Just endure it. Sleep was what mattered. A moment later, a soft rustling sound. My mother’s footsteps returned. She didn’t turn the lock this time. She knocked softly, her voice deliberately gentle, a placating tone meant to mend the rift. “Honey, your aunt and uncle are here. If you’re not going to eat, maybe you could just come out and say hello?” 3 She flicked on the light again, acting as if nothing had happened. “Look, it’s after eight. You’ve had a good sleep,” she said, pulling open the curtains. “Back in my day, we didn’t sleep until the sun was high in the sky like you young people do.” But I only went to bed at five in the morning! And you’ve woken me up three times! I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking the sudden sunlight with my arm, refusing to engage. She continued her monologue. “Come on, get dressed. Your aunt is here too. Let them see how outstanding my daughter is. Better than any man.” My temples throbbed. The pain in my stomach intensified. A firestorm of rage was building inside me, so hot it felt like my tongue would melt. As I was trying to figure out how to respond, my mother ripped the comforter off me. “Get up! Go wash your face and greet your aunt and uncle.” She grabbed my arm to pull me up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wrenched my arm free. My only request was to be allowed to sleep. Why was that so impossible for her to grant? Was it really that difficult? I had spent seven days running on fumes, my brain operating at a thousand miles an hour. All I needed was rest, to be at my best for the final presentation this afternoon. On a normal day, I might have just given in. But now, looking at her, I knew she understood exactly what she was doing. Why did she have to torment me like this? My mother stared at the hand I’d flung away, her face a mask of shock and disbelief. I had always been so compliant. But I was out of patience. “My aunt and uncle,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “are they going to drop dead on the spot if I don’t entertain them? I have told you a dozen times that I am exhausted and in no mood for this. Are you incapable of understanding?” Her expression immediately crumpled into one of profound hurt. I could see tears welling in her eyes. Normally, that would have been my cue to comfort her. But now… I steeled myself. “If you bother me one more time, I’m moving out.” “Honey…” The tears trembled on her lashes, as if she were the victim of some great injustice. I turned my head away. “I’m only doing this for you. How could you say that to me?” The comforter in my hands was twisted into a knot. There it was again. The magic phrase. As long as it was for my own good, she was never in the wrong. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I got up, got dressed, and took out my laptop. If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well work. Review my presentation for the afternoon. Seeing that I was ignoring her, my mother muttered something under her breath and left the room. The door closed. And then immediately opened again. The next thing I knew, a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup was being upended directly onto my laptop. The hot, greasy broth soaked through my clothes and pooled on the keyboard. The cloying smell of chicken fat filled the room. In that one, fleeting moment, I saw it. A flash of a triumphant smile on my mother’s face. What on earth was she so smug about? 4 “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I just thought you might be hungry by now.” “Don’t be angry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of it… please don’t be mad…” “But now that you’re up, you can go see your aunt and uncle, right?” A roar filled my ears, my mother’s voice a distant buzz. Suddenly, something clicked into place. I looked at her, my exhaustion so profound it felt like clarity. Beneath her mask of guilt, her smugness was unmistakable. Her hands clutched the empty bowl. She made no move to help me, even though a box of tissues was sitting right beside her. I felt terrifyingly calm. “It’s fine,” I said, grabbing the tissues and trying to mop up the mess. I tried to restart the laptop. It was dead. I took a deep breath. The laptop had to be repaired, immediately. Everything else could wait. I stood up and pulled a change of clothes from my closet. I’d check into a nearby hotel. Staying here was clearly a liability. Without giving my mother another glance, I walked into the bathroom, quickly washed up, and changed. I grabbed my backpack, ready to leave. It was nine o’clock. The presentation was at two. I still had five hours. Everything was manageable. As I stepped into the living room, my aunt and uncle descended upon me, their faces plastered with fawning smiles. “Oh, Jenna, look at you! All grown up and a big boss now!” I forced a tight smile. “Aunt, Uncle. I’m just a senior employee, not a boss.” I started moving toward the front door. But my mother was right behind me. “Honey, I already said I was sorry! Why are you being so petty? Even if it was my fault, I’m your mother! How can you treat me this way?” I bit back the urge to scream. My aunt and uncle, finally sensing the tension, chimed in. “Jenna, your mother carried you for ten months! How can you be so disrespectful?” “And you know your father died young. She raised you all by herself. Even if she makes a mistake, can’t you just be a little more tolerant?” It was always the same speech. For years, out of sympathy for her hardship, I had tolerated everything. But today was different. She had done this on purpose. This was the last straw. I took another deep breath and fired back, my voice dripping with ice. “Aunt, Uncle, if anyone should be understanding of my mother’s struggles, shouldn’t it be you?” A flicker of embarrassment crossed their faces. My mother, seeing me target her precious siblings, bristled. “Jenna, what are you talking about? Your elders are saying a few words to you, what’s wrong with that?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Right. In other families, the elders support the younger generation. In our family, it’s the other way around.” “Not only do I have to support my own mother, I have to support her entire family too!” “Uncle, don’t think I don’t know that my mother paid the two hundred grand for my cousin’s wedding. And Auntie, my mother also paid off the half a million your husband lost gambling.” I ripped away their masks without mercy, their faces turning ashen. I’d always known about these things, brainwashed by my mother into thinking it was normal to support family. I kept quiet because the money was nothing to me, and keeping the peace was paramount. My mother stomped her foot in fury. I shot her a withering glare and continued. “And where, do you suppose, a non-working housewife got all that money?”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393728", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel