Her Awakening

Early on the morning of the second day of the New Year, the sky had yet to fully brighten. The night sky bore a faint ink-blue hue; the stars were so sparse, they seemed frozen in place, scattered sporadically across the firmament. At five o'clock, I rose quietly, moving deliberately slowly, fearful of waking Kai Collins who lay beside me asleep. I entered the kitchen and deftly ignited the gas stove. The blue flame suddenly leapt forth, gently licking the bottom of the pot, emitting faint crackling sounds that echoed keenly in the morning's stillness. I retrieved the fish I had prepared the day before from the refrigerator, cleansed it meticulously, and carefully placed it into the steamer. Then, taking a cloth dipped in detergent, I diligently wiped the stove, leaving no corner untouched, until the surface gleamed with a reflective shine—I ceased only then. Today, more than a dozen relatives would come to pay their New Year respects. It was the liveliest New Year's second day since Kai Collins and I had married three years ago. My heart brimmed with both anticipation and a measure of apprehension. "Lydia, bring another bottle of soy sauce!" The voice of my mother-in-law, Lisa Lee, came from the living room, her tone carrying a slight urgency. I quickly wiped the water droplets from my hands and hurried to the storage cabinet to retrieve the soy sauce, then lightly ran to hand it over. She took the soy sauce, casually placed it on the coffee table, and immediately lowered her head to continue with her chores, as if I were simply an ever-ready helper. Just after ten o'clock, a crisp knock sounded at the door. I swiftly walked over to open it and was first greeted by the cousin's family. Soon, relatives arrived in succession, and the once spacious living room was instantly filled with clamour. I repeatedly moved between the living room and kitchen, busy serving tea and pouring water for everyone. Just as I arranged the sliced fruit on the fruit plate, the voice of my father-in-law, Jerry Collins, rang out. He sat in the very center of the sofa, holding a cup of tea, his gaze fixed upon me, his tone laden with an inescapable scrutiny: "Kai Collins has been married for three years; Lydia, why is there still no sign of a pregnancy?" His words were like a bucket of cold water, instantly extinguishing the liveliness in the living room. The noise suddenly diminished, and all the relatives' eyes fixed sharply upon me. I gripped the fruit plate tightly in my hands, my knuckles whitening from the force; I could only stare at the tips of my shoes, too afraid to raise my head and meet those probing, curious gazes. "Father, it is the New Year; please refrain from speaking of this." Kai Collins spoke in a light, dismissive tone, with obvious indifference. After saying this, he immediately turned to discuss last night's game with his cousin, deliberately avoiding the pleading look I cast at him. Yet the relatives did not stop; they continued to fix me with peculiar glances, while several aunts gathered together, whispering softly. Those fragmented murmurs pierced my heart like needles. I fought to suppress the lump in my throat, took up the empty fruit plate, and hurried into the kitchen. After closing the door behind me, I leaned against it and took deep, steady breaths, striving to hold back the tears welling in my eyes. At eleven o'clock that night, after bidding farewell to the final group of relatives, I tidied the disordered living room and sat down wearily on the sofa, watching Kai Collins with his head bowed, engrossed in his phone. "Kai Collins, shall we go to the hospital for a check-up next week?" I lowered my voice, tinged with a hint of entreaty. The words my father-in-law spoke during the day pierced my heart like a thorn, leaving me deeply unsettled. His fingers paused on the phone screen, yet without lifting his head, he said, "Check what? It's unnecessary." "But what Dad said today..." My voice was heavy with grievance, and my eyes involuntarily welled with tears. "My father was just speaking casually; don't take it to heart." He put down his phone, rose, and walked toward the bedroom, leaving behind a murmured, "I'm tired; I'm going to sleep," before closing the door. I watched his figure fade away at the bedroom doorway; although the living room lights were bright, a chill ran through me. Alone in the vast living room, my heart felt empty, as though something had been hollowed out within me.