Chapter 1

"Why did you take the lamp apart?" James Carter burst out of the bathroom without even zipping his pants up.

I was crouched on the floor, clutching the lamp base in my hand.

The lampshade was shattered. A crack had split the base, revealing a small black card inside.

The card was practically brand new. It didn't fit with the lamp that had been used for three years.

I pulled the card out.

James snatched it from me. "If the lamp's broken, just throw it away. Why did you take it apart?"

His hands were trembling, and he wouldn't look at me. He kept his eyes locked on the card.

Honestly, I'd never seen him this anxious about anything. Not even about me.

*****

The lamp was a gift from my mother-in-law, Margaret, on the first day we moved in, three years ago.

It wasn't big. It had a ceramic base and a milky white fabric shade.

There was a tiny red light on the base.

I asked Margaret about it once, and she said it was a power indicator. "See? If it's lit up, the lamp's on. It's good for your eyes."

I didn't really pay attention.

The lamp sat on my nightstand, and every night I'd sit under its light—nursing the baby, soothing him to sleep, chatting with my bestie, arguing with James, or crying by myself.

For three years, that little red light never went out.

Margaret came by once a month, supposedly to see her grandson.

But the first thing she did when she walked in wasn't to hug the baby. It was to clean the lamp.

She'd pull out a special velvet cloth from her bag and wipe the lamp inside and out, even getting into the cracks of the base.

After she finished cleaning, she'd always make sure the lamp was set just right, with the base pointed straight at the bed.

One time, I absentmindedly turned the lamp to face another way, and Margaret noticed it as soon as she walked in.

"Don't turn the lamp around. If it's facing the wall, the light won't reach you, and that's bad for your eyes," she said with a smile, turning it back.

I thought she was a little too fixated on the lamp, but I guessed it was normal for her to be attached to something she gave others as a gift. I never gave it much thought.

Whenever she came over, I'd usually be in the kitchen, cooking.

Margaret didn't eat much, but she was picky. The ribs couldn't be too salty, the greens had to be tender, and the soup had to simmer for at least two hours.

I'd start prepping at ten in the morning.

When the food was served, Margaret would take a bite and say, "James is really picky."

She never said the food was good, and never acknowledged how hard I worked. She just said that James was picky.

I'd be in the kitchen, washing the pots, while Margaret played with the baby in the living room and James scrolled through his phone.

No one would call me out to join them, and no one would ask if I'd eaten.

Eventually, I got used to it. After serving the food, I'd wolf down a few bites in the kitchen, standing up.

There was a split on the back of my hand from last winter's cold. I slapped a Band-Aid on it, but it got dirty and I never bothered to change it.

That was just how things went. Nothing big, nothing dramatic.

Margaret never yelled, never threw things, and never really nitpicked. Well, if she did, it was always in a gentle, subtle way.

She'd say, "Hey, you've been wearing that shirt for years. Hasn't James ever bought you anything new?"

I said, "Well, I think—"

"I'll tell James to get you a couple of new ones. Don't be so stingy with yourself. You're part of the family now."

Her words always sounded sweet, but whenever she said "I'll have James buy you some", James never actually did.

In the end, I bought two cheap shirts myself.

The first month, I didn't think much of it. The second month, same thing.

Then in the third month, the red light on the lamp base flickered in the middle of the night.

I woke up and stared at it for a few seconds.

It didn't flicker again, so I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Margaret's POV

By the time Margaret got home, the file for this month had just finished uploading to her phone.

It was a 32GB card, enough to hold over two thousand hours of recordings.

She didn't know how to use a computer, but her daughter had shown her how to listen to recordings on her phone.

She only needed to pop the card into a card reader, hook it up to her phone, and hit play.

Margaret settled into her living room, fixed herself a cup of coffee, and started listening.

She hit fast-forward. Daytime didn't matter. Nobody was in the bedroom then. She only cared about the nighttime recordings.

The baby started crying, so Fiona got up to calm him down.

James rolled over and didn't wake up.

Fiona paced back and forth under the lamp, rocking the baby in her arms.

She hummed a song, a bit out of tune.

Margaret's finger paused on the progress bar.

Fiona's voice was weary. It took her forty minutes to finally get the baby to sleep.

She laid the baby down, and then leaned against the headboard, unmoving for a long while.

Then, a faint sound drifted through the audio.

Fiona was crying.

Margaret let it play. She didn't fast-forward it, but she didn't pause either.

Once it was over, she backed out and dialed a number. "James."

James replied, "Mom."

"Your wife cried again last night. Take her out for dinner this week."

"Okay."

"Just make sure you say it was your idea, not mine."

"Got it, Mom."

Margaret hung up, and then dialed another number. "Janet."

Janet said, "What's up, Mom?"

"Fiona was chatting with her friend the other day, saying the discounted bag you had her snag cost 400 dollars. She thought it was a bit much."

Janet paused for a couple of seconds. "That bag was only 240 dollars after the discount."

"I'm not saying you paid too much. I'm just saying that Fiona felt it was expensive."

"Alright, Mom. I won't ask her for help next time, then."

"No need for that. Just let me know if she does you a favor again."

"Okay."

Margaret hung up and set her phone down.

The coffee had gone cold, and she didn't bother drinking it.

She went to the kitchen, poured out the cold coffee, and washed the cup.

Margaret never hesitated when it came to buying things for her daughter.

Last month, when Janet was short 600 dollars on her car loan, Margaret wired the money over that very day.

To her, Fiona was an outsider.

She didn't see anything wrong with that.

Her own mother-in-law had treated her the same way back then.