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?”
She closed her eyes.
“Your mom says after giving birth, I shouldn’t eat too much. She says if I eat well, my milk will be ‘too strong’ for the baby.”
My mind went blank.
“So she keeps the good food,” Lily continued softly. “She says it’s for you because you work hard… and for herself because she’s older.”
My throat tightened.
“And you?”
She pointed at the bowl.
“Sometimes… I get the leftovers.”
I stared at it again.
The bones.
The scraps.
And suddenly, I remembered every phone call.
“Your wife is doing great. She eats well. She’s resting.”
A chill ran through me.
“How long?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Since I came home from the hospital.”
One month.
An entire month.
A month I believed she was being cared for.
A month my mother took my money.
A month my wife ate… scraps.
I clenched my fists.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lily looked up, fear in her eyes.
“Because… she’s your mother.”
Those words hit harder than anything.
She wasn’t afraid of hunger.
She was afraid of hurting me.
I stood up.
“Where is she?”
“She’s probably at Mrs. Carter’s house,” Lily said quietly.
I grabbed my jacket. “Stay here.”
“What are you going to do?”
I looked at her. “Fix this.”
Mrs. Carter’s house was two doors down.
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