“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

Her name was Jessica. She was a colleague Mark often mentioned at home for her achievements, but I could sense something more in the way Mark looked at her. Jessica entered with a very confident air, as if she owned the place. She greeted Mark with familiarity, even touching his arm in a way that was too close while smiling cheerfully. Mark seemed delighted by Jessica’s arrival. His face lit up in a way I hadn’t seen when he looked at me. Jessica examined me from head to toe with a look of dismissive evaluation. There was no kind smile on her lips when she looked at me, only a faint, cunning smirk.

Mark immediately led Jessica and some of his closest friends to the most comfortable spot, the main sofa. He called out my name loudly and ordered me to bring a plate of food for Jessica. He said Jessica was a special guest and should be well taken care of. I swallowed, holding back the bitterness rising in my chest. I brought a plate and filled it with the food I had prepared earlier through tears. The pot roast, the garlic shrimp, and a piece of the loaded baked potato casserole were carefully arranged on the plate. I brought it to Jessica and offered it to her respectfully. Jessica accepted it without a single word of thanks.

She looked at it with a mocking glance and began to eat while continuing to talk with Mark, ignoring my presence as I stood waiting for her next instructions. The incident happened in an instant. Just as I was about to turn around to go to the kitchen for some napkins, I suddenly heard the loud sound of a plate falling. Crash. The sound of ceramic shattering against the floor silenced the room for a moment. All eyes turned to the main sofa. I turned and saw the plate I had given Jessica smashed to pieces on the floor. The greasy gravy from the pot roast and the food stained my mother’s favorite rug.