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The One I Hate Is Actually the One Who Loves Me Most
墨書 Inktalez
Dad is drunk again.
He said, "That bitch, she deserves to die."
"Let me be laughed at."
I stood behind him, watching his swaying figure, recalling the sympathetic gazes of the villagers, deeply agreeing with his words.
Today, Dad heard someone talking about how good someone else's daughter-in-law is and thought of Mom, cursing uncontrollably.
"Slut, promiscuous, she gave me a green hat."
"Bitch."
The villagers looked at me with strange eyes; after careful observation, I realized it was sympathy.
Thinking of this, I couldn't help but echo, "With such a mother, I feel ashamed."
A sudden cold wind blew by, messing up my hairstyle.
Although the wind was too chilly and made me shiver, it was normal to have wind on a summer night.
I didn't pay much attention to it.
In a place I couldn't see, two men were dragging a woman.
The woman was furious: "Ah, I'm so angry!"
The two men comforted her: "Calm down, calm down, we have a way, don't rush."
I returned to the house, lay on the bed, and closed my eyes.
Before long, I fell asleep.
A flash of darkness passed by.
I saw a young woman with a big belly; she looked very young, her belly as big as a small mountain, yet she was still busy.
The moment she turned around, I widened my eyes; it was Mom when she was young.
I lunged at her in anger, wanting to ask her many questions.
Why did she leave me when I was seven? Why did she die when I was thirteen? Why hadn't she called me even once in five years and never came to see me?
Was she really that heartless? Did she not want me anymore like Dad said?
All these years, I thought I had gotten used to it and become numb.
When I saw her again, my heart was filled with such resentment and unwillingness. But I missed her. I passed through her body. I looked at my own floating body, lost in thought. It was as if there was a transparent glass dome surrounding me, and wherever she went, I passively followed. I tried at a maximum distance of five meters. I watched her wash clothes, cook, grow vegetables, and feed the pigs. I saw her struggle to bend down and how her back ached so much that she couldn't sleep. She often worked alone, eating by herself. Dad was frequently absent. Every day, she smiled and talked to me in her belly, her voice gentle and pleasant. "Baby, what will you do in the future? A teacher, a soldier, anything is fine." "Will you like singing, baby?" "Do you love dancing?" Even though I resented her for leaving me, at this moment, I still craved her gentle smile. This showed that she once loved me, and I was the child she longed to give birth to. She could talk to her belly for an hour while I quietly sat with her. Just sitting there in a daze, watching. I didn't even feel bored. Without the company of my grandparents, Mom was like a lonely tree, silently bearing the heavy pressure of life. Dad always wandered outside, not working or coming home, only appearing when he needed money, then selling off things from the house before disappearing again. Occasionally at home, he acted like a lord, enjoying Mom's service but never giving her the respect she deserved. One day, my grandparents rarely came home and saw Dad lounging on the sofa watching TV while Mom busied herself nearby. Grandma saw this scene and said to Mom, "Child, you must endure for the sake of this family."
A hint of disappointment flashed in Mom's eyes as she softly replied, "Endurance? I've endured too much already."
Grandpa joined the conversation, his tone laced with reproach: "As a wife, you should support your husband, no matter what he does."
Mom turned away, tears welling in her eyes, but she struggled to keep them from falling: "Support? I've always supported him, but who supports me?"
Dad overheard the conversation and merely scoffed, "Look at her, she's starting to rebel, following people outside and learning things that are all wrong."
Dad was impatient: "All you do is complain."
Mom's voice trembled: "I'm not complaining; I'm just... I'm just so tired."
Grandpa said sternly, "Enough! He's a man, running around outside; isn't it all for this family? As a wife, you need to be understanding."
Dad angrily replied, "I have so much pressure outside; what's wrong with resting at home?"
Mom despaired, "The pressure of not bringing back a single penny?"
"Enough. Your husband is working hard outside; as a wife, you should understand," Grandpa said angrily.
"Xiao Fang, understanding your husband is a woman's duty," Grandma said gently. "Besides, you need to think about the children too."
"I'm doing it all alone for the children! Ha!"
She was alone in the kitchen, quietly cleaning the dishes, and tears finally slipped down her cheeks.
The due date had arrived, but Mom's labor hadn't started yet.
A few days later, Dad finally prepared to take Mom to the hospital.
The family had no money, so Dad called Grandpa to ask for some.
Grandpa borrowed 2000 yuan from Younger Grandfather and brought it back to Dad in the afternoon.
Only then did Dad take Mom to the city; it was already late when they arrived. They found a hotel to rest in and decided to go to the hospital in the morning.
Mom was worried about me and anxious, struggling with some insomnia. Dad told Mom to sleep by herself while he went out.
Mom anxiously grabbed Dad and asked where he was going.
Dad said he was going to find someone to relieve his stress.
Mom's tears welled up in her eyes.
And I looked at Dad in shock.
Dad even tried to persuade Mom: "You can't help me; don't you feel guilty for making me feel this way? Isn't it right for me to find someone else to help me?"
The twenty-year-old mother was stunned. She knew something was wrong, but she didn't know how to refute it. I remained silent. During this time, I stayed by my mother's side. My father's words were either belittling or insulting. At twenty, still in school and untouched by the world, my mother was too naive. Such betrayal, and she didn't even know how to respond.
I was so angry following her around, but I couldn't change anything. I watched helplessly as my mother was persuaded back to bed to rest, and my father left. I saw her struggling to turn over in bed, and after a few moments, she began to clutch her chest and gasp for air. Once she calmed down, she propped herself up on the edge of the bed and went out to find my father.
My father was downstairs discussing hiring a prostitute with the hotel owner. By the time my mother arrived, they hadn't reached an agreement yet. My mother said, "Don't go." My father replied, "If you can't help me yourself, then why won't you let me find someone to relieve myself? You're so selfish."
Not knowing how to respond, my mother felt hurt by being called selfish, but all she could say was, "Don't go." The hotel owner had never encountered a situation like this before—someone wanting to hire a prostitute while being pregnant—and he didn't want to get involved: "You should discuss it further before making a decision."
Both sides were at a standstill, and my mother felt a wave of discomfort; she leaned against the railing while holding her belly, her face looking somewhat pale. I shook my head and suddenly found it hard to see around me; the space felt constricted. The sounds I heard seemed muffled, buzzing in my ears.
"You should just go to the hospital; there are doctors on duty there. I'll refund your deposit; don't make it difficult for me—it's not easy running a small business," the owner's voice came through as he tossed the room deposit into my father's hands like a hot potato and quickly left.
His footsteps faded away. Shouts came from afar. "Why aren't you leaving? What are you standing there for?" It was my father. "Okay!" my mother replied timidly.
After that, the sounds became chaotic—there were the roaring of motorcycles, the whistling of the wind, and my mother's sobs.
There were intermittent complaints from Dad.
"All you do is create trouble every day."
"You're always overthinking."
"You don't care about anyone at all."
...
I was completely speechless. Dad's image began to shatter.
I thought everything would be fine once we got to the hospital, but the reality was that I was overthinking it.
Dad left Mom alone in the hospital, facing the impending arrival of a new life.
After the examination, it was found that there was low amniotic fluid, and a cesarean section was needed. Mom urgently called Dad, again and again, but on the other end of the line was only the cold sound of a busy signal.
Grandpa and Grandma arrived at the hospital, but Dad still hadn't shown up.
Finally, the call connected. Mom's voice trembled as she explained the situation; the doctor said they needed Dad to sign the consent form for the surgery.
Dad impatiently replied, "I can't come; just proceed with the surgery."
The doctor anxiously explained, "Without a family member's signature, we can't perform the surgery."
Mom pleaded, "Please, come and sign; there's low amniotic fluid, and the baby is lacking oxygen. He can't wait."
"Then arrange for the surgery immediately. I don't believe it; no signature means no surgery. I'm telling you doctors, arrange for it now. If anything happens to the baby, I won't let you off easily."
On the other end of the line came Dad's roar, followed by the sound of the phone hanging up with a click.
Grandpa and Grandma felt embarrassed; the gazes of those around them were akin to public execution.
Grandpa awkwardly smiled, "This idiot is just too stubborn; doctors, please bear with us."
After the oxygen supply ended, Dad still had not appeared in the hospital corridor.
In the hospital corridor, Mom sat alone on a cold bench, tightly gripping her phone while listening to the relentless busy signal on the other end.
Her forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat, and each breath seemed exceptionally difficult.
"Doctor, we really can't wait any longer; the baby's safety is paramount." After Dad hung up, he never answered Mom's calls again.
The doctor sympathized but felt helpless: "I understand your situation, but hospital regulations state that without a family member's signature, we cannot proceed with surgery. We don't have that authority."
Tears streamed down Mom's face: "But I can't find him; I really can't find him. Does this mean my child has to be in danger?"
The doctor said softly, "Please remain calm. We will do our best to help you."
With a mix of sadness and determination, my mother replied, "Doctor, I beg you, let me sign. I cannot put my child in danger."
Her voice trembled as she continued, "I know this is against the rules, but please believe me, I will take full responsibility for my signature. If anything goes wrong, I will bear the consequences."
The doctor hesitated, "This is really difficult, but given your situation, I will report to my superiors. If there are no issues, you can sign yourself."
My mother grasped the doctor's hand and burst into tears of joy, "Thank you, thank you! I will take on all the responsibility."
Amidst the murmurs of those around and the sympathetic gaze of the doctor, my mother picked up a pen and signed her name on the surgery consent form.
Her hand trembled.
In the operating room, the doctors began the tense procedure.
Meanwhile, my mother lay on the operating table, filled with love for her child and hope for the future.
Even though her husband was absent and she faced immense embarrassment and helplessness.
My vision returned to the doctor’s arms as I looked at my short limbs in silence.
After the doctor bathed me, he returned me to the ward where my mother had also come back.
I lay in bed watching my mother repeatedly call my father, all unanswered. She cried as she dialed again and again.
My grandmother advised her not to cry, saying it would ruin her eyes.
Yet my mother persisted in calling until I felt hungry.
I held back my desire to eat; after all, I was 27 years old and shouldn’t be drinking my mother's milk...
When I could endure it no longer, I suddenly woke up in a daze.
Opening my eyes to see the familiar ceiling above me, my mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts.
I could hear my father snoring from another room, faintly audible despite the distance.
I got up with my phone in hand, using its screen light to walk over to my father's bedside and looked at him.
Images flashed through my mind one by one.
Everything was different from what my father had described.
I was certain that my mother loved me deeply.
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