Chapter 3

**【You all think she's a saint? You don't know the half of it. We give her a 2,000-buck subsidy every month, yet she's so stingy she won't even buy breakfast for Savannah! She made the child go hungry until she almost fainted during morning exercises!】**

The relatives were stunned.

**【No way. Savannah is the apple of her eye. She wouldn't do that.】**

But Jade came prepared.

She threw an old screenshot into the chat—a notification from the teacher about Savannah having low blood sugar.

Then, a voice message from Savannah herself popped up. Jade must have coached her.

"It was because Grandma wouldn't give me money for breakfast! I fainted because Grandma is *bad*!"

The group erupted. My eldest sister-in-law—who had never missed a chance to undermine me—pounced immediately.

**【The child is only eight—kids don't lie. Remember when Mom and Dad divided the family property? You were always calculating then, too. Now you're taking it out on your own granddaughter? Have you no shame?】**

My vision blurred as I stared at the screen.

Back when the property was divided, this same sister-in-law had thrown a tantrum—literally rolled on the ground—until she secured the 300,000 bucks cash inheritance, leaving us with nothing but a worthless, dilapidated house in the village.

Yet *I* was the calculating one?

I waited.

Hoping.

Praying my daughter would defend me against this slander.

Instead, she typed:

**【Mom, it's fine if you count pennies in daily life, but my in-laws are coming today. I'm begging you—don't let me become a laughingstock!】**

The relatives piled on, urging me to surrender.

**【Yes, be the bigger person. It's New Year's.】**

**【Don't let outsiders see a joke.】**

My sister-in-law added one final, venomous jab:

**【You're already half-buried in the dirt. No matter how much you hoard, won't it all go to the kids eventually? Jade, your mom is just stubborn. Don't be mad at her. It's not worth it.】**

Something inside me cracked.

Tears dripped onto the screen, distorting the cruel words into a watery blur.

The daughter I had cherished. The girl I had spoiled and sacrificed *everything* for.

A heartless ingrate.

That "2,000-buck subsidy" she bragged about? It didn't even cover a week of their groceries.

They demanded fish and meat at every meal. Jade insisted on imported fruits and premium milk. On weekends, they dragged me out to "enjoy myself" at fancy restaurants—only to wait for me to pick up the check.

Every month, I had to ask my husband for money just to keep their fridge full.

I was *paying* to be their servant.

And why didn't I use my own pension for daily expenses?

Because Jade had cried poor.

"Mom, the mortgage and car payments are crushing us," she had sobbed years ago. "Can you help? Otherwise, I can't stay home and recover from the birth in peace!"

I felt sorry for her. I foolishly bound my salary card to their mortgage account.

For seven years, 5,000 bucks vanished from my account every month like clockwork.

And now she had the *audacity* to nitpick a 2,000-buck "allowance"?

As for Savannah's breakfast?

The child refused my home-cooked meals. She wanted grease-soaked street food pumped full of additives. When I refused to buy that garbage for the sake of her health, she threw the milk and eggs I'd packed for her straight into the trash.

I never expected my concern for her health to be weaponized as *abuse*.

Seeing I hadn't responded, Jade sent three quick messages.

**【Forget it, everyone stop talking.】**

**【No matter how bad she is, she's still my mom. I was too worked up.】**

**【Mom, we're about to pick up the in-laws. For dinner, you really need to show off your skills. Let them see how good you are!】**

She thought a flimsy half-apology would fix everything.

She thought I would come crawling back to the kitchen to save her face.

No.

My fingers flew across the keyboard.

**【You can make the New Year's Eve dinner yourself. I'm already at the station.】**

I hit send.

Left the group chat.

Blocked Jade on WeChat.

Dragging my luggage out of the taxi at the bus station, a strange lightness settled over me. The cold winter air bit at my face, sharp and clean.

But for the first time in seven years—

I could breathe.

My phone rang. My husband.

"That white-eyed wolf," he spat, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "We spoiled her *rotten*, and she doesn't have an ounce of gratitude in her body!"