Part 3The Drumstick Dilemma

Lying in bed, I couldn't understand why it turned out like this.

Mark stopped working "overtime" so often once our son started recognizing people.

He’d come home early, playing with the boy with all sorts of toys until I finished cooking.

Then he’d put on a stern face: "Alright, alright, go eat. Or Mom will get angry and blow up."

Then the two of them would go wash their hands, giggling.

At the time, I felt happy. I thought he was a good family man willing to play with his kid.

But thinking back carefully...

Why was I always the villain when discipline was needed?

"Eat fast, or Mom will be mad."

"Stop playing, Mom's going to be unhappy in a minute."

"Still playing! Wait till your Mom sorts you out!"

"No, Mom won't let you eat that."

"Mom won't let you go."

"Mom's going to spank you."

...

I never hit him. I never yelled at him.

But all the negativity, all the unhappiness, was always followed by "Mom."

While Dad kept his hands clean, comfortably playing the "Good Guy."

Soon, Mark would come to "persuade" me.

Every time there was friction between me and the kid, he played both sides.

To the son: "Your Mom just has that temper. Women are like that. Be the bigger man, let it go."

To me: "Kids don't mean what they say. We parents need to educate them properly. Look, he's crying, he feels bad. Don't hold a grudge."

I loved my son. Hearing Mark, I always felt it was my fault for not teaching him well, so I felt even more guilty.

Then I would reflect on myself and actively seek reconciliation with my son.

Over time, they seemed to accept this dynamic as the default.

Right now, my son was sitting arrogantly in the living room, waiting for me to go apologize.

And Mark, just like before, started chattering with those clichés.

In the past, I was too busy sulking to pay attention to him.

But this time, I stared at him quietly.

I actually saw excitement in his eyes. And an inexplicable pleasure.

He was happy.

His son sided with him unconditionally, even belittling and shoving me for him. He felt proud. He felt joy.

How did I not see this before?

He talked until foam formed at the corners of his mouth.

All of it was disapproval of me and various forms of moral kidnapping.

I gradually realized his true intention. He seemed to be showing off.

Showing off that his son was close to him and dismissive of me, his own mother.

But hidden within this boasting was a trace of indescribable jealousy.

I didn't understand. We are a family. My salary is spent on him and the boy and this house. What is he jealous of?

Besides, he was the one who couldn't handle the stress and chose the easy, low-paying job.