Love in the Waiting Room
It streamed through the glass window of my maternal family's living room, slanting across the floor.
The patches of light on the floor flickered gently with the breeze, like someone had accidentally scattered a handful of shattered gold, shimmering softly.
I stood in the foyer, my fingers repeatedly tracing the pale blue pregnancy examination report tucked in my pocket.
The edges of the paper had grown slightly creased from my grip, while my fingertips had turned faintly pale from pressing so hard.
My heart pounded fiercely within my chest, like a restless little rabbit caught inside.
It struck my ribs with each beat, every thump filled with anticipation and nervousness.
This is the wonderful news my husband and I have awaited for two years. When I received the results at the hospital this morning, I even quietly wiped away tears in the corridor.
At that moment, all I wanted was to rush straight into the living room and share this joy with my mother.
The moment I opened the door, the familiar aroma of home-cooked food mixed with the fresh scent of vegetables greeted me.
That scent, infused with the warmth of daily life, instantly drew me back into the comfort of the familiar routine.
Mother sat in the rattan chair at the center of the living room, carefully picking through vegetables.
The vibrant green vegetable leaves fluttered in her callused hands, her movements practiced and precise.
One by one, she neatly placed the tender leaves into a bamboo basket, while the withered, yellow stalks were casually tossed into a plastic bag at her feet.
Hearing the door open, Mother looked up.
Her bifocals slid down to the tip of her nose; the eyes behind the lenses first showed confusion, then instantly brightened the moment she saw the piece of paper clenched in my hand, like a bulb suddenly illuminated.
She set down the vegetables, and as she rose, the rattan chair let out a soft creak.
The voice was soft, yet it rang out with striking clarity in the quiet living room.
Mother hurried toward me, wiping her hands on her apron before carefully taking the pregnancy examination report from my hands.
"This is..." her voice trembling slightly.
She brought the paper close to her eyes, reading each word slowly, a gentle smile spreading at the corners of her mouth.
By the end, even her eyes were crinkled with laughter, the wrinkles at their corners gathered like a blooming chrysanthemum.
"Oh, my dear daughter! This is wonderful! You must take good care of yourself now—no more late nights working overtime like before."
My mother held my hand; her palm was rough but warm, carrying the heat left by years of household chores.
That warmth passed through my fingertips into my heart, making me feel deeply reassured.
As she walked toward the living room, she kept murmuring reminders, "Living with your sister-in-law is just right; it's good to have someone to look out for you."
"Your sister-in-law is five months pregnant with her second child, two months ahead of you. Both of you are expectant mothers; you can support each other and share any questions or worries."
My heart brimmed with joy as I nodded along with my mother's words: "Mom, that's exactly how I feel. Maybe in the future, I could even go to prenatal check-ups with her."
To me, the maternal family has always been the warmest refuge; sharing the anticipation of new life with loved ones is an indescribable joy.
The first week after moving in was as peaceful and beautiful as I had imagined.
Every morning, I was awakened by the rhythmic 'gurgle' of porridge simmering in the kitchen.
That sound was steady, like a gentle morning song.
Mother always found creative ways to prepare nourishing meals for us.
On Monday, she simmered pork rib soup, with a few red dates afloat, filling the air with a rich fragrance; on Tuesday, she steamed fish, tender and garnished with vibrant green scallions; on Wednesday, she stir-fried fresh vegetables, crisp and bright.
The dining table was always laden with delicious, nutritious dishes, each bite filled with my mother's heartfelt care.
My sister-in-law was also very warm and welcoming.
Every day after meals, she would pull me onto the sofa to chat.
She shared the precautions she took during her first pregnancy, explaining which stages brought morning sickness and which required extra calcium.
She even lent me her treasured pregnancy books, filled with her neat and detailed handwritten notes.
I often touched my still-flat belly, imagining what the baby would look like once born.
I wonder whether the Baby's eyes will look more like mine or my husband's; I imagine what the Baby's first words will be.
Immersed in the happiness of soon becoming a mother, I thought such days would last until the child's birth.
In truth, I had long since made thorough preparations for postpartum recovery.
Three months ago, I reserved a place at the city's most highly regarded Y Maternity Center.
Not only did I pay a deposit priced at ten thousand, but I also made two in-person visits to inspect it carefully.
The rooms at the maternity center are spacious and bright, sunlight pouring through large windows to fill the entire space.
The nursing staff all hold professional certifications, and when it comes to postpartum care knowledge, they speak with great authority.
I feel at ease thinking that after giving birth, I can receive attentive care there without troubling my family, and I can also find some peace of mind myself.
That afternoon, I sat at the desk in my room, organizing recent bills.
A thick notebook lay open on the desk, filled with detailed records of pregnancy-related expenses.
From prenatal check-up fees to maternity clothes, and even the tiny outfits prepared for the baby, every expense was clearly documented.
I was verifying the numbers on the calculator, my fingers lightly tapping the keys, the digits on the screen continuously changing.
Suddenly, my phone chimed with a "ding dong," and a text message popped up.
I picked up my phone, and the message on the screen made my pupils shrink instantly — it was a refund notification from the maternity center.
It clearly read, "Your booking for the 42-day package at Y Maternity Center has been canceled. The amount of 10,000 will be refunded to the original payment account within three business days. If you have any questions, please contact customer service."
My heart sank, as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over me, the chill spreading from my head down to my feet.
I hadn't canceled the appointment — so how could I have received a refund notice?
I hurriedly opened the appointment app on my phone, my fingers swiftly scrolling through the screen as I searched through my previous booking records.
The order status glaringly displayed "Cancelled," and the mobile number used to modify the appointment was not mine, but a string of unfamiliar digits.
The hand holding the phone began to tremble, my fingertips growing cold.
I quickly walked out of the room, intending to find my sister-in-law in the living room to ask her about the situation.
After all, aside from Mother and my older brother, only my sister-in-law knew I had booked a spot at the maternity center.
The living room was very quiet, with only the sharp crackling of my sister-in-law shelling sunflower seeds breaking the stillness.
That sound pulsed repeatedly, as if tapping directly on my nerves.
My sister-in-law sat on the sofa, her back turned toward me.
Her long black hair draped over her shoulders, the ends softly curled.
On the glass coffee table before her lay a white plastic bag filled with melon seed shells; the bag's opening was stretched taut, indicating it was quite full.
Hearing my footsteps, my sister-in-law slowly turned her head.
A faint, barely perceptible flicker of avoidance crossed her eyes, like a child caught misbehaving, but she quickly regained her composure.
She quickly placed the sunflower seeds in her hand onto the coffee table, then rubbed her hands on her thighs, as if trying to conceal something.
"Sister-in-law, have you ever seen a refund from my maternity center?" I tried to keep my tone calm, but my voice still trembled slightly.
That ten thousand was money my husband and I had saved over several months; it wasn't a small sum and meant a great deal to us.
Sister-in-law picked up the glass of water from the coffee table and took a slow sip.
She set the cup down before saying, "What refund? I don't know anything about it."
I stay at home every day, either watching TV or picking vegetables. What do I have to do with your business?
After she said that, she even rolled her eyes, her tone filled with impatience, as if I had asked some inappropriate question.
But I received a refund notification, and the system shows the appointment was changed using an unfamiliar mobile number.
I took out my phone, opened the text messages and screenshots of the appointment records, and handed them to her. "I asked customer service, and they said the registered owner of that number is you."
Sister-in-law, if you're having difficulties, we can talk it over, but you can't change my appointment without telling me.
Her eyes fell on the phone screen, and her expression darkened instantly, like a clear sky suddenly overcast with clouds.
She suddenly sprang up from the sofa, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor with a sharp "creak."
The sound was piercing, tightening something deep in my chest.
"What do you mean? Are you accusing me of stealing your money?"
Her voice shot up abruptly, the sharp tone reverberating through the living room, making my ears ache. "I'm pregnant—my body's heavy, it's a struggle just to walk. I don't have time to waste on your ridiculous accusations!"
"Don't spew lies here, or I'll take you to court for defamation!"
Her sudden attitude startled me, and I instinctively stepped back.
My back nearly hit the wooden cabinet behind me, so I quickly steadied myself.
The vase on the cabinet wobbled, spilling a few drops of water onto the floor, leaving small puddles.
Just then, the older brother walked out of the room.
He had just woken up; his hair was tangled and stood up like a bird's nest.
His eyes still held the haze of sleep, with a bit of sleep crust lingering at the corner.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned, his voice thick with frustration: "What's going on? Why all the noise? It's the middle of the afternoon—can't anyone just let me have some peace?"
"Brother, the money I paid for the maternity center was refunded. Customer service said the reservation was changed to a mobile number belonging to my sister-in-law, but she says she knows nothing about it."
Grasping at this lifeline, I hurriedly explained everything to my older brother, hoping he would help me make sense of it and stand by my side.
Before I could finish, Mother came in from the kitchen.
She held a rag that hadn't been fully cleaned, spotted with grease stains, and her apron was splattered with vegetable broth.
She hurried over and tugged at my arm with considerable force.
A faint red mark immediately appeared on my arm, stinging slightly.
"What's wrong with you, child?" Mother frowned, her tone thick with admonition, "Your sister-in-law is pregnant; she mustn't get upset. What if the baby is affected?"
"Don't argue with her."
"Maybe the maternity center made a mistake. System errors happen all the time. What does this have to do with your sister-in-law?"
"Mom, it's not a system error!" I explained anxiously, raising my voice a few decibels, "Customer service told me that changing the appointment requires ID and a mobile phone verification code—only my sister-in-law can provide those!"
"Why don't you believe me?"
I couldn't believe my mother would say such a thing. She was supposed to be the closest person to me, yet she didn't trust my words and instead blindly defended my sister-in-law.
My older brother frowned as he looked at me, his eyes full of disapproval: "Ruby, stop making a mountain out of a molehill."
"It's normal for maternity centers to have occasional issues. You should contact their customer service again and get a clear explanation before jumping to conclusions."
"Don't so easily doubt family members; it only hurts feelings."
I stood there, stunned, looking at the three of them before me.
My mother's face was full of reproach, as if I had committed a grave fault; my older brother's expression was one of sheer impatience, as if I were causing trouble without cause; The sister-in-law stood to the side, a faint, triumphant smirk playing on her lips, like a general victorious in battle.
A cold, sour sensation spread from the depths of my heart, coursing through every limb and fiber.
This money was clearly mine, saved for my own postpartum recovery—so why had I become the one accused of stirring trouble?
I felt like an outsider, shunned by them, isolated and powerless.
The sunlight in the living room remained warm, yet I felt chilled to the bone, my very breath carrying a sharp coldness.
At night, I lay on the bed in my room, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
The mattress was a bit hard, pressing uncomfortably against my back, yet I had no mind to shift my position.
I kept my eyes open, staring at the ceiling, my mind crowded with the events of the afternoon.
Moonlight slipped through the gaps in the curtains outside the window, spilling into the room and casting a slender silver ribbon of light across the floor.
That beam of light lay quietly on the floor, making the room feel even colder and more desolate.
The room was very quiet; I could only hear the steady beat of my own heart and the low murmurs of my sister-in-law and mother speaking softly next door.
Though I couldn't make out the exact words, the broken, intermittent chatter crept into my ears like tiny insects, making me even more restless.
I couldn't help but wonder if they were talking badly about me, or perhaps conspiring about how to handle me.
I closed my eyes, and memories from my childhood came unbidden to my mind.
Back then, my older brother was especially kind to me; he always thought of me first whenever there was something good.
One time, I was playing with a ball in the yard, and it rolled into the neighbor's garden.
As I ran to fetch it, the neighbor's big black dog suddenly lunged out and barked fiercely at me.
The dog was fierce, its fur bristling, teeth bared, frightening me so much that I cried out loudly, my legs going weak—I couldn't run at all.
Just as the black dog was about to leap onto me, my older brother suddenly burst out of the house.
He was only twelve then, barely taller than me, but he threw his arms wide, shielding me behind him, and shouted, "Don't come any closer!"
The black dog bit into my older brother's leg, fresh blood instantly soaking his blue pants.
But my older brother bore the pain and smiled, telling me, "Don't be afraid; I'm here, it won't hurt you."
Later, a long scar remained on my older brother's leg.
Whenever I see that scar, my heart is filled with both guilt and warmth, yet he never once spoke of the pain.
At that time, my older brother's eyes were full of tenderness; to protect me, he never cared about his own injuries.
But now, he won't even believe what I say, even thinking I'm making a fuss over nothing.
When did our relationship begin to grow so distant?
Is it that after he married, his heart belonged only to his wife?
Is it only after my sister-in-law became pregnant that they started treating me like an outsider?
The more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt, and tears slipped uncontrollably from the corners of my eyes, soaking the pillowcase.
The pillow still carried the faint scent of the soap my mother had used—a scent I had known since childhood—but this familiar fragrance no longer brought me any sense of security.
I don't know what I did wrong, or why my family treats me this way.
Is it simply because I am a married daughter that I am no longer considered part of this family?
The next morning, I stepped out of the room, my eyes dark-rimmed with exhaustion.
My eyes ached and felt swollen, my vision blurred even when I tried to focus.
I raised my hand to rub my eyes, hoping for some relief.
The living room had already been tidied; the melon seed shells on the coffee table had disappeared, replaced by a plate of washed apples.
The apples were a bright, fresh red, inviting in their appearance.
Mother was busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast; the pot gurgled with porridge cooking, its fragrance spreading through the room, though I had little appetite.
Sister-in-law sat on the living room sofa, holding an apple in her hand, slowly nibbling at it.
She wore a loose pink maternity dress, her belly visibly rounded.
I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination, but her complexion looked pale; her brows were slightly furrowed, as if burdened by some worry or quietly contemplating something.
When she saw me come out, Sister-in-law put down the apple and spoke first.
Her tone was softer, carrying a hint of intentional reconciliation: "Ruby, about what happened yesterday, I was wrong."
"I shouldn't have lost my temper with you. You know how easily a pregnant woman's emotions can become unstable."
I thought she genuinely wanted to make peace; a small weight lifted from my heart.
Perhaps yesterday was just a misunderstanding; if everyone could just take a step back, the matter could be settled.
I was about to say, "It's okay," but my sister-in-law's next words froze me instantly, and the small warmth that had begun to rise in my heart vanished in an instant.
"However, you have to give me a way out. After all, I'm pregnant. There's no way I should be the one apologizing to you."
She picked up a tissue from the coffee table, wiped her mouth, and continued, "Buy a safety lock for your little nephew, and we can consider the matter closed."
"It doesn't need to be too expensive, something simple will do, around one or two thousand. Consider it a small token from his aunt."
I was stunned, unable to believe my ears.
She refunded my money without my consent, and now she not only refuses to apologize or return the money but even expects me to buy things for her?
What kind of logic is this?
Does she really think what she did was completely justified?
How can she be so shameless?
"Why should I?" I retorted, my voice trembling with anger, "You took my money, and now you expect me to buy things as an apology?"
"Aren't you going too far? How can you be so unreasonable?"
"How can you speak like that?" Mother came out of the kitchen, holding a plate of freshly made fried eggs.
The fried eggs were golden and crispy, with steam still rising from their edges.
She set the plate down on the coffee table with a sharp clatter. In a stern tone, she scolded me, "What's wrong with buying a safety lock for your nephew?"
"Must family members be so rigid about dividing things? As an aunt, isn't it only right to buy something for your nephew?"
"Why are you still being so petty about this?"
"Mom, this isn't about being petty; she did something wrong!" I raised my voice, my pent-up hurt and anger finally breaking free. "She secretly canceled my stay at the maternity center and refuses to admit it. And now she expects me to buy things? Does that make sense?"
"If you were in my shoes, could you accept this? Why do you always side with her? Can't you try to see things from my perspective?"
My sister-in-law also stood up from the sofa and quickly came over to me.
She was slightly taller than me, looking down with a gaze full of disdain.
She pointed her finger at my nose, her tone sharp as she said, "I did something wrong? I think you're just jealous because I'm having a boy!"
"You don't even know if your own baby is a boy or a girl, yet you can't stand to see me happy! You're just unsettled inside!"
"I'm not jealous of you!" I was so furious my whole body trembled, my fists clenched tightly, my nails digging deep into my palms, sending sharp pain through me.
But I barely noticed the pain—I just wanted to shout out the anger inside me, "I just want my money back! Return my money! Otherwise, I won't let this go!"
"I'm not giving it back! What are you going to do about it?" My sister-in-law showed no sign of backing down, her face brimming with defiance.
She stepped forward and pushed me forcefully with her outstretched hand.
Already heavy and unsteady due to pregnancy, I lost my balance after her shove and fell backward.
With a loud bang, my back struck the edge of the coffee table with force.
The coffee table was made of glass, its edges hard and cold; the instant it hit, a sharp pain radiated through my back, as if I had been struck by something heavy.
Then, my belly gave a sudden jolt, as if something was stirring inside, followed by a sharp sinking pain.
A sharp pain radiated from my abdomen, like countless needles pricking me.
I collapsed to the floor in agony, cold sweat breaking out instantly, soaking the cotton pajamas clinging to my skin.
The pajamas stuck tightly to my skin, cold and clammy, unbearably uncomfortable.
I curled up on the floor, clutching my belly tightly with both hands, unable to hold back painful groans: "Ah... my belly... it hurts so much... Baby..."
The older brother heard the noise and ran out of the room.
His hair was still messy, clearly disturbed from being woken up.
He saw me lying on the floor, pale and sweating cold with pain. His first reaction wasn't to help me, but to quickly go to my sister-in-law and anxiously ask, "Are you alright? Did she hurt you? She didn't do anything to you, did she?"
The sister-in-law shook her head, but her hand instinctively cradled her belly, her voice deliberately feeble, "I'm fine, I was just startled by how she acted earlier."
"She argued with me so loudly; I was afraid it would disturb the baby, so I only gently pushed her once. I never expected her to be so sensitive to touch."
Mother hurried over as well. She didn't look at me lying on the floor, but instead moved close to the sister-in-law, reaching out to touch her arm with a voice full of concern: "It's all right, it's all right."
"You're pregnant; you mustn't get startled. If anything happened to the baby, what would we do?"
After saying that, Mother turned to look at me. Her eyes held no trace of worry—only reproach: "Look at you, you're an adult, yet still so thoughtless!"
"Why are you arguing with your sister-in-law? She's pregnant—can't you be a bit more considerate of her?"
"And now look at you—fallen and hurt. If you harm the baby, it's your own fault!"
I lay on the cold floor, the pain in my back still lingering, while the sinking ache in my belly grew sharper with each passing moment.
As I listened to my mother and sister-in-law's words, and saw my older brother standing silently by, my heart felt as though it were being repeatedly sliced by a dull knife, the pain so searing it stole my breath away.
I wanted to speak out, to argue back, but my throat felt stuffed with cotton, leaving me speechless.
I could only watch helplessly as they gathered around my sister-in-law, showering her with care and concern, treating me like an irrelevant outsider—even a burden.
Cold sweat trickled down my forehead, dripping onto the floor and spreading into a small patch of dampness.
I could feel my consciousness fading little by little, but the pain in my belly grew sharper, as if an invisible hand were tugging forcefully.
"Baby... please be alright..." I murmured with the last ounce of strength, clutching my belly tightly, my nails nearly digging into my flesh.
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