Chapter 2

Yasmine returned, carrying numerous bags filled with health supplements.

As she entered, my father immediately forgot about the television program he was watching. He rose quickly, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a sense of urgency.

"I'll take those," he said, rushing to help her with the bags. He carefully set them down, one after another, his voice filled with worry.

"How are you feeling? Did you complete everything at the hospital? Was the traffic bad? And why did you purchase so much? Your mother-in-law and I have plenty here. Just concentrate on taking care of yourself... and Perez and the infant. We're doing fine."

Hearing the commotion, my mother came out of the kitchen, still wearing her cooking apron. She awkwardly dried her hands on it, her face brightening.

"Oh, Yasmine, you're back? Please wash your hands first. The meal will be ready soon. Perez is in the bedroom watching the baby," she said, smiling warmly.

It's commonly believed that mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law rarely get along, but Yasmine shared a connection with my parents that surpassed that of most biological daughters.

Yasmine responded to their concern with a warm smile, nodded, and went to freshen up in the bathroom. As she walked away, my father turned to my mother and gestured for her to return to the kitchen.

"Why are you standing around? Get back to cooking! Everyone's home now, and dinner isn't ready yet. Don't keep the three children waiting."

My mother gave him a playful look of disapproval but obliged, returning to her culinary tasks.

The atmosphere was cozy and inviting—almost too idyllic to leave behind.

In the bedroom, I opened the nightstand drawer and took my final dose of medication. The unpleasant taste lingered as I swallowed, then I stood and headed to the living room.

As I exited, Yasmine came out of the bathroom. Her eyes immediately fell on me, filled with concern.

"Why have you become so thin?" she inquired, her voice gentle but worried. "Are you feeling okay? Have you been overexerting yourself looking after our daughter?"

She reached out to check my temperature, but I calmly moved away.

"Mom and Dad are still here," I whispered. "Not now."

My father, standing nearby, chuckled but kept his gaze averted, pretending not to hear. The slight smile playing on his lips gave him away.

Yasmine frowned slightly but didn't protest. Instead, she retrieved a beautifully wrapped package from her bag. With a flourish, she opened it to reveal an exquisite, sun-inspired watch worth a fortune.

"Do you like it?" she asked, a hint of excitement in her tone. "I wanted to show my appreciation, darling, for your dedication to our daughter this past month. You've been so diligent."

I accepted the gift with a faint smile and gently kissed her forehead.

"It's too luxurious to wear," I said quietly. "Let's put it away for now. Come on, dinner's ready."

She nodded, her smile unwavering, showing no sign of disappointment.

What a considerate and ideal wife.

When the meal was finally served, Yasmine stepped out to the balcony to answer a call.

My parents and I shared an unspoken agreement: no one touched their utensils.

We waited. Thirty minutes passed before Yasmine returned from the balcony, and only then did we begin eating.

My father, typically composed, seemed unusually agitated today. His attempts at conversation were awkward, almost forced.

"Try this," he said, placing food on Yasmine's plate. "This is your mother-in-law's specialty. You won't find anything like it elsewhere."

My mother joined in with a nervous smile, her embarrassment barely concealed.

"It's nothing extraordinary. If you enjoy it, I'll prepare more next time. Visit often, okay? Bring our precious granddaughter... we'd love to see her more frequently."

Their expressions—hopeful yet anxious—made my appetite disappear. I pushed my chair back and stood.

"Perez," my mother called quickly. "Where are you going? Eat first; the food will get cold."

"It's okay," I replied calmly. "I'm going to prepare some milk. The baby will cry if she's hungry."

In the nursery, I mixed the formula with practiced ease. As soon as the bottle touched my daughter's lips, I heard it—a heavy thud outside. Then another. And another.

Three distinct sounds.

I glanced at the clock, counting the seconds, then walked out of the room.

The scene that greeted me was exactly as anticipated.

My parents lay sprawled on the floor, motionless and disheveled. Their breathing was shallow, barely perceptible.

Yasmine was still conscious, slumped in her chair in the living room. Her eyes, wide with horror, fixed on mine. She struggled to move, to cry out, but the drug had stripped her of any strength, leaving her completely silent.

I approached, my expression unreadable.

"Good," I said softly, crouching to meet her gaze. "Watch carefully. This is what retribution looks like."

Her eyes filled with confusion and terror, darting between my parents and me.

I stood up, allowing her to absorb the scene. Every moment of her helplessness felt like justice.

For now, I would let her watch.