Chapter 4

"Congratulations! Eight pounds, six ounces. A healthy baby boy."

"What a blessing. The first boy born today."

Everyone clamored to hold the baby, showering him with affection.

My sister was wheeled out, pale and exhausted, but no one paid her any attention. She lifted her hand slightly, then slowly let it drop.

That nearly nine-pound chunky boy had been delivered naturally by my petite sister. All because my mother-in-law said naturally born babies are smarter than C-section ones. To win her favor, my sister had gritted her teeth and endured it. Now, she was completely and utterly drained.

After my sister was moved to a regular room and couldn't get out of bed, my mom and my mother-in-law agreed to take turns caring for her. But it didn't take many days for cracks to appear in their strongest alliance.

My mom complained my sister bossed her around all day and resented it.

My mother-in-law complained my sister was too delicate, insisting on using three different colored basins for washing her bottom, her feet, and her underwear. What was all the fuss? The basins all served the same purpose. She was just being difficult. Looking pretty was useless if you couldn't run a household. Wasteful brat.

Soon, everyone found an excuse to be busy and stopped coming.

My sister, who had such fierce pride, was completely helpless when faced with her own postpartum recovery, letting them poke and prod her as they pleased. Derek never came to see her either. All she could do was stare at the happy couple in the next bed, a real family, and quietly sob.

Postpartum women are already emotionally volatile. Add the baby crying every night, and my sister's once-delicate features faded away. The long, waist-length hair she was so proud of started falling out in clumps during those torturous nights.

Watching this, I felt nothing but a deep, deep sense of irony. So this was the happy life my sister had betrayed me to embrace.

But apparently, my mom realized leaving my sister alone in the hospital wasn't a great idea. She called me. Her tone was pure command.

"Your sister's in the hospital. You go stay with her. Hurry up. Don't make me angry. I'm only saying this once."

Silence. A long, drawn-out silence. When the person on the other end didn't hear me speak, her voice grew more agitated.

"Are you deaf? Your mother's talking to you. When someone speaks, you answer. Who taught you such bad manners?"

"Not one of you can give me a moment's peace. Did I do something wrong by raising you? Did I raise enemies?"

"I am your mother. Whether you like it or not, you have to listen to me!"