The Secret Boss, The Greedy Bride
The transfer confirmation popped up—the 100,000 had securely landed in my daughter-in-law Whitney Lynn's account.
The tension in my shoulders eased without me realizing it, and I let out a long sigh. The tightness in my chest from worrying about her pregnancy expenses finally softened.
Mom, you really spoil me too much. Whitney Lynn's voice came from the bedroom, smiling and sweet like it was soaked in honey— even the air seemed to carry a faint sweetness.
I called toward the bedroom with a gentle smile, "You're pregnant, so make sure to buy plenty of what you want to eat and use. Don't shortchange yourself or the baby."
Pregnancy is a big deal, so I always tried to keep her comfortable—after all, the baby she's carrying is the next generation of our Collins family.
I put down my cell phone and habitually started scrolling through the local forum.
Usually, I love reading parenting tips and home recipes there, getting ready to take care of the baby and cook nutritious meals for Whitney Lynn.
But today, the title of one post hit me like a sharp needle—'A mother-in-law who only gives money and never cooks—can a family like this even be called qualified?'
That title made my heart skip a beat, filling me with an odd sense of unease.
I frowned and clicked on it with a bit of suspicion.
The original poster poured out her troubles, saying that after she got pregnant, her mother-in-law never cooked and only sent money transfers, so she couldn't even get a warm homemade meal.
Every line was full of grievances and dissatisfaction; each sentence seemed to share her own sense of injustice, which made me feel uneasy.
Scrolling down, the comment section was even more heated.
Some sympathized with the original poster, saying this kind of mother-in-law seemed generous but was actually careless; money can never replace the comfort of a home-cooked meal. Some people also think the original poster is just being dramatic. If you have the money, why not just buy it yourself? These days, delivery is so convenient.
I was completely absorbed, still thinking over those two opinions, when the bedroom door creaked open.
Whitney Lynn came out, the pearl bracelet on her wrist gently swaying with her movements, glowing softly in the light.
My eyes froze instantly—the wrist in the original poster's photo was wearing the exact same pearl bracelet.
The style of the bracelet, the size of the pearls, even the smallest details on the chain—all exactly the same.
"Mom, what are you looking at?" Whitney Lynn leaned over the sofa, curiosity shining in her eyes as she peeked at my cell phone screen.
My heart tightened, and I quickly closed the forum page, forcing a calm smile. "Nothing, just reading some parenting tips to get a head start on taking care of the baby."
I didn't dare let her see that post, afraid it would cause unnecessary misunderstandings. After all, she's pregnant now; her emotions can't be disturbed too much.
Whitney Lynn didn't suspect a thing. She leaned back on the sofa and gently rubbed her belly, sighing, "You know, I've been really craving your braised pork lately. The stuff from restaurants just can't compare to yours."
There was a hint of nostalgia in her voice, along with a touch of hope.
Something stirred in me. I followed her lead and asked, "How about I make some for you tomorrow? The pork belly at the vegetable market is fresh, and meat bought in the morning is the best. It always tastes better cooked fresh."
Knowing I could make something she loved gave me peace of mind.
"Really?" Whitney Lynn's eyes lit up instantly, her voice full of hope. "Mom, your braised pork smells the best—rich but not greasy. I could eat two big bowls."
As she spoke, she waved her hands around like a little girl craving a treat.
I smiled and nodded, but inside, it felt like a heavy stone was weighing on me.
The bracelet on her wrist and the complaints in that post—these two coincidences were just too striking, making me suspicious.
Could that post really have been written by her?
But just a moment ago, she said she wanted to eat the braised pork I made, so that doesn't really sound like she's unhappy.
Early the next morning, when it was still just a bit light and the air was a little chilly, I grabbed my vegetable basket and headed to the vegetable market.
The vegetable market was already bustling, with vendors shouting back and forth.
I carefully picked out a fresh piece of pork belly, marbled with fat and lean meat, pressed it with my hand—it was firm, clearly good quality.
I also bought some side ingredients, like shiitake mushrooms and potatoes—they make the braised pork taste best—then leisurely headed home.
When I got home, Whitney Lynn was already sitting on the living room sofa, playing with her cell phone.
Hearing the door open, she looked up at me calmly and said, "Mom, did you buy the meat?"
"Yeah, I'll go make it for you right away." I carried the groceries into the kitchen, tied on my apron, and got to work.
First, I cut the pork belly into evenly sized square pieces, about two centimeters each, so the stew would be flavorful and look nice.
Then I put them into cold water to blanch and remove the blood foam, adding a few slices of ginger and a bit of cooking wine to get rid of the meat's gamey smell.
Just as I put the meat into the pot, I heard footsteps behind me.
When I turned around, I saw Whitney Lynn holding her cell phone, taking pictures of me, with the lens also focused on the pork belly on the stove.
She moved very gently, as if she didn't want to disturb me.
"Mom, I'm taking a photo to post on my Moments so everyone can see how much my mother-in-law cares about me. She knew I wanted braised pork, so she got up early to buy the meat and cook it for me." She smiled as she explained, still adjusting the angle on her screen, trying to make the photo look better.
I didn't think much of it, just smiled, nodded, and kept focusing on the meat in the pot.
Once the water boiled, a layer of blood foam appeared on top. I carefully skimmed it off with a spoon, then took the meat out to drain.
Next, I heated the pan, poured in oil, added rock sugar to caramelize, and cooked it over low heat until the sugar melted into a deep brown color, bubbling with tiny bubbles.
Then I added the meat, stirring until every piece was coated in a tempting caramel color, shiny and incredibly appetizing.
Then add cooking wine, light soy sauce, and dark soy sauce for seasoning. The dark soy sauce is just a little, mainly for coloring.
Finally, pour in hot water until it covers the meat pieces, cover the pot, and simmer on low heat.
Soon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of braised pork—a rich meaty scent mixed with the sweet notes of soy sauce and rock sugar, whetting everyone's appetite.
When I brought the braised pork to the table, Whitney Lynn was still staring down at her cell phone, her fingers tapping quickly on the screen. I didn't know who she was chatting with—she looked completely focused.
"You can eat now, go ahead and see how it tastes." I handed her the chopsticks, feeling a little hopeful inside, curious if she'd like the braised pork I made today.
Whitney Lynn responded with a sound but didn't put down her cell phone. She just freed one hand to grab a piece of meat and popped it into her mouth, then said, "Hmm, it's still the same taste."
After that, she went right back to staring at the phone screen, her fingers still tapping nonstop, as if the chat was way more interesting than the food in front of her.
I couldn't help but ask, "Who are you chatting with? It's so lively—your fingers haven't stopped."
I was curious about what topic could get her so hooked.
"Chatting with a friend from the forum," Whitney Lynn said without looking up, casually, "She's in a similar situation as me, and we're discussing how to 'train' our mother-in-laws."
Her tone was relaxed, like she was talking about something completely normal.
"Train?" My hand holding the bowl suddenly froze, and my heart skipped a beat. That phrasing sounded really off.
The word "training" felt like a little thorn, stabbing at my heart, making me feel really uneasy.
Only then did Whitney Lynn realize she had misspoken. She quickly looked up with a slightly embarrassed smile: "Mom, I was just joking with her, don't overthink it, it was just something I said casually."
Her eyes flickered nervously, avoiding looking me in the eye.
I didn't say a word, just quietly ate my meal, but the doubts in my heart kept growing.
Her tone just now was so natural, not like she was joking. Combined with that earlier post, a bad feeling slowly started to grow inside me.
I always feel like things might not be as simple as they seem on the surface.
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