An elderly maid hovered nearby, wringing her hands. “Master Noah, your mother made this especially for you. You mustn’t waste her efforts…”
For some reason, this set Noah off. He pushed his plate away. “I don’t want this!” He stomped over to me, his eyes pleading. “Miss Vivian, I want a hamburger and fries, like in the pictures Daddy showed me.”
I paused. There was a scene like this in my
dream. The pictures Ethan had shown him were paparazzi shots of me grabbing fast food
abroad. Later, in the dream, I took Noah to
amusement parks and indulged his junk food
cravings, solidifying his impression that his “boring” mother was mean and I was cool. I did
enjoy burgers and fries, and ice cream and
spicy noodles, but that didn’t mean I
disregarded healthy eating.
It was wrong to proiect anger onto a child
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It was wrong to project anger onto a child
whose worldview was still forming. He was too young to be judged.
“Noah,” Maya said, standing up, her expression uncertain. “Those aren’t good for you…”
“Noah,” I interrupted, “did you ask your mom if she’s had a hamburger and fries?”
Noah looked at Maya, his small face scrunched
up in confusion, as if he’d been about to
complain but had forgotten what he wanted to
say.
Maya shook her head at me. The cameras zoomed in, capturing the potential for a “rich family drama” unfolding before them. Thanks to
Maya, I felt a sense of calm I’d never
experienced before. I could even look at Noah
without feeling irritated.
I smiled. “Your mom wasn’t born a mom, Noah.
This is her first time being your mom. No one
taught her how to do it. She learned everything
herself. She was a little kid once, just like you.
So, the way she grew up is the way she wants
you to grow up.”
“If she hasn’t tried something, she doesn’t
know if it’s good or not. She just knows she
hasn’t tried it. The things you want to do, she
might not have done them either. She might not
even know if they’re fun. She made you
breakfast this morning not to show off, but
because that’s how she was raised. She
thought you’d like it.”
“She’s probably just…stuck in the past.” I took
a sip of my milk. “You want to be a grown–up,
right? I heard you taught your friends how to
make origami at kindergarten. So, why not be
patient with your mom? Teach her.”
<
“No,” Maya replied softly.
“Has Mommy never been to an amusement park?”
“…No.”
“Mommy makes me breakfast because her
mommy always made her breakfast?”
Maya’s eyes reddened. “No, sweetie. It was my grandma.”
She wasn’t good at explaining things to a child. She’d married Ethan at just twenty, practically a kid herself. How could she be expected to navigate motherhood? And Ethan certainly wasn’t helping. He probably preferred keeping her in the dark, a docile housewife confined to their home. Maya had gotten pregnant within six months of their marriage. The child had become both a tie and a burden, the final straw that would eventually break her.
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Being a parent required both respect and connection. In my years of managing my psychosis, I’d delved into psychology. Fixing this kid shouldn’t be too hard. He was just misguided, not malicious.
“Miss Vivian,” Noah said after a long pause, “If I take Mommy to do those things, will she
understand me then?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You have to ask her if
she wants to. When you invite someone to do
something, you should always ask first.”
The little prince, accustomed to getting his way,
clearly lacked the concept of considering other
people’s feelings. After a moment of
contemplation, he turned to Maya. “Mommy, will
you try those things with me?”
Maya looked at me for help. I just smiled.
Hesitantly, she bent down, her voice serious. ”
Noah’s face lit up, as if he’d received a grand promise.
“You haven’t done those things either. How can
you take her?” I slipped my gloves back on. “Come on, I’ll take you both.”
And so, the easily swayed Maya and Noah
followed me. I ordered fast food, then took
them to the kitchen to make their own fried
chicken using an air fryer, comparing the
results.
Amidst the clatter of the kitchen, as Maya
struggled to coat chicken pieces in cornstarch,
Noah whispered to me, “Miss Vivian, how can I
be like you?” Ethan had clearly sung my
praises. Noah’s trust and admiration were
bordering on absurd.
“Why would you want to be like me?” I
narrowed my eyes. “Didn’t your dad tell you? I’m
mentally ill.”
<
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The term “mentally ill” clearly went over Noah’s head. “You seem…smart. I don’t always
understand what you say, but it sounds…right.” He looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “How can I learn so many…right things?”
I paused. The soothing sensation, the feeling of being cleansed, returned. This time, it emanated from the small child before me.
“Didn’t your dad teach you?” I asked.
Noah shook his head. “Daddy’s not home much. He doesn’t…explain things. He just tells me what’s right and what’s wrong…”
In Noah’s world, his entire understanding came from Ethan’s pronouncements. What was right?
Mommy staying home to take care of him. What
was wrong? Mommy bothering Daddy at work.
“Do you think he’s…right?” I asked.
<
Noah hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. “I
don’t know.”
That wasn’t surprising. The entire Pierce family
reinforced Ethan’s authority. But Noah would go
to school, interact with the world, and realize
that reality often contradicted his father’s
pronouncements. He was a bright kid. He just
needed a gentle nudge in the right direction.
He’d rejected his mother in favor of a “new
mommy” who fit his limited understanding. That
“mommy” was me.
Now, I was more interested in having him reject
Ethan for a “new daddy” once he understood
things better. Ethan wasn’t fit to be a father.
Besides, I needed to confirm if Noah was the
key to suppressing my episodes.
“So, tell me, which fried chicken tastes better?”
I offered him two pieces.
He tasted both, then pointed decisively. “This
<
“That’s your mom’s,” I said, biting into a piece.
The crispy skin crunched, giving way to juicy, tender meat. “Your mom is a great cook. And
she’s smart. She learns fast.”
Noah seemed to consider this for the first time.
He nodded slowly. “Mommy’s better than me. I
couldn’t make this.”
“So, what do you think now? About what your dad says?” I prompted. “I can’t tell you. You’re
smart enough to figure it out yourself, just like
you figured out which chicken was better.”
Later, at the amusement park, after a thrilling
ride on the log flume, I handed Noah a tissue,
gesturing towards a soaked Maya.
“Lesson number one,” I whispered, “protect
your mom.”
“Because, besides you, she has no one. Look
around when you get home. See who stands by
Noah turned to Maya, her face flushed from the ride. She’d clearly never been to a place like this, never experienced such a thrill. She was trembling, but her eyes shone bright. “Noah, Vivian… should we go again?” This was a side of his mother Noah had never seen. He stepped forward to wipe the water from her face.
At that moment, as if a veil had been lifted, the
world around me sharpened, becoming vibrant
and clear. So, that was it.
I stood up. “You’re a smart kid, Noah. I know
you can see. You’ll figure it out.” I finally
understood.
“When you have the answer, then you can come
to me for more lessons.”
06
The first episode of “The Wives‘ Club” wrapped.
Maya and Noah went home I went back to my
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<
Inter
100
Maya and Noah went home. I went back to my
parents‘ house, intending to spend a few days
with them. That evening, Sylvia showed up unannounced, her round eyes accusing.
“You didn’t call me,” she said. “I waited for days.”
I looked at her suitcase. “I was going to call you tomorrow. We have all your stuff here. Why did you bring a bag?”
“Presents…for you.” Sylvia’s face brightened. She linked arms with me, greeting my parents as we walked into the dining room.
“Sylvia, dear!” My mother beamed. “Perfect
timing! We haven’t started dinner yet. We made
all your favorites.”
My parents had a skewed perception of Sylvia.
They saw her as a gentle, naive heiress, a bit
slow, and a saint for putting up with me. They
hod
idon that to
bant friand
<
had no idea that to be my best friend, Sylvia
couldn’t be…normal.
Case in point: We were sitting on my bed,
Sylvia recounting everything I’d missed while abroad.
“Victor’s family business went bankrupt. They
got busted in that organized crime sweep.” Victor was the mob boss.
“You set him up?” I knew Sylvia too well.
“Yeah.” She was nonchalant.
“And… Damien’s… gone. Something about… cult activity…fraud…” Damien was the self- proclaimed guru. He’d amassed a following based purely on his looks, and his followers had engaged in bullying and harassment, even
driving a girl to a suicide attempt. Damien had
remained aloof, indifferent to the suffering he’d
caused.
<
“You again?”
“Yeah. I… orchestrated the cult thing.” She spoke slowly, as always. “Oh, and… Tristan… he’s… in jail. Solicitation.” Tristan was the entitled rich kid who’d pursued me relentlessly.
“Not me this time,” Sylvia said calmly. “He…
girlfriend. A… escort. He… got mad at
had a…
her. Humiliated her. Called his friends… to… do
things. I just… happened to be there… reported him.”
I burst out laughing. There were a lot of
messed–up people back home, but those three
took the cake.
“Did you clean up after yourself?” I asked,
concerned. “Don’t get caught.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes were clear. “I… forgot to tell
you… remembered now.” Sylvia’s slow
processing speed came with severe memory
く
