After the ordeal of childbirth, I re-entered the realm of the workplace. To ensure my baby never knew the pangs of hunger, I diligently pumped milk in anticipation of my long hours away.

Yet, despite my efforts, two bottles a day seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving my child with a hauntingly gaunt face.

Suspicion gnawed at me, prompting me to install a surveillance camera within our home. What I discovered was a betrayal I could scarcely believe. There, on the screen, was Cathrine Quinn, my husband's mother, furtively removing the bottles of milk I had painstakingly prepared from the refrigerator.

***

The sight of her stealthy actions on the surveillance video, juxtaposed with my son's emaciated cheeks, ignited a fury within me. Clutching the bottle, I stormed towards her room.

But the door was locked, and from within, strange noises emerged.

"Hmm... Be gently..." Moans and whispers painted a picture I could hardly bear to imagine.

Cathrine's voice, unmistakable, sent a shiver of disgust through me. My face contorted in disbelief and rage as I kicked the door with a force fueled by my indignation.

"Come out!" I demanded.

My voice was a thunderclap in the suddenly silent house. There was a panicked shuffling.

After a while, the door cracked open to reveal Cathrine's flushed face.

I sneered. The audacity of her actions, stealing my son's sustenance while engaging in sex, was beyond comprehension.

Before I could voice my outrage, she spoke imperiously.

"Why aren't you in the kitchen preparing dinner after work? What are you doing here?"

Her voice dripped with condescension as if she were addressing a lowly nanny. Coupled with the chilling scene I had just witnessed on the surveillance feed, my hand itched with the urge to strike her. She embodied her wicked nature ever since I married her son, Jeremy Quinn.

Her words were like a match to my already blazing fury. My retort was laced with venom.

"I wanted to see how you've been caring for my child at home. Xavier's face has wasted away from hunger."

I had always treated her with respect. In the past, Jeremy would step in to mediate. But with him away on business, the fragile peace has shattered. Now, Cathrine and I clashed. Minor skirmished every third day, escalating to full-blown battles by the second.

"It's hot; children rarely have appetites. Isn't it normal for him to be thin? If you have nothing better to do, just make dinner. I have important matters to attend to."

Her nonchalance was infuriating, and I was moments away from unleashing my wrath when another voice intervened.

"Yvonne, don't bother with her. She's going through menopause at her age. You're the younger generation, so you should give way to her."

Alfred Quinn, Cathrine's husband, had just returned from the market with fresh vegetables when he decided to throw his support behind Cathrine.

Instead of feeling revulsion at his evident partiality, my mind was wholly consumed by another revelation: Alfred had just walked through the door. This meant that the man who had been intimately involved with Cathrine in that room was certainly not Alfred.

The realization that I had stumbled upon a scandal washed over me, calming my rage. I wore a knowing, dangerous smile that made Cathrine squirm.

"What are you laughing at?"

I met her gaze with insinuation. "Laughing at how no one knew a thief had broken into his house."

The ambiguity of my statement was not lost on Cathrine. Her face paled, a stark contrast to the red flush of moments before, while Alfred remained blissfully in the dark.

Cathrine glared at me. Her eyes promised retribution, but I merely smiled back. The tables had turned. No longer could she wield the sword of filial piety to cut me down; now, I held the power to shatter her facade with a single, damning revelation.

In the dead of night, my son wailed. I gazed upon his fragile, thin face, and the anger within me simmered, threatening to boil over.

Cathrine, unaware, had once again surreptitiously taken the breast milk I had painstakingly prepared and stored in the refrigerator that morning. She was oblivious to the fact that I had substituted it with an ordinary formula.

Jeremy's absence left me cautious, restraining me from acting on my impulses. Yet, the moment I stepped into the house that night, Cathrine hurled the bottle at my feet.

"Why did you replace the breast milk with formula? Are you trying to starve my grandson?"

She questioned me as her eyes widened with feigned concern for Xavier.

Little did others know that she had been secretly giving away my breast milk.

"Cathrine, what are you implying? Questioning me? As Xavier's biological mother, I know best what he should be drinking," I retorted.

My gaze remained steady as I slowly bent to retrieve the bottle.

"Moreover, I'm uncertain where the nutrients from my breast milk are truly going." My words were laced with a veiled insinuation.

She looked stricken. Her eyes narrowed to sharp points.

"What do you mean by that?"

I let out a soft laugh, "Xavier is growing; breast milk alone isn't sufficient for his nutritional needs anymore. I've consulted a doctor, who says formula is more appropriate for him now."

"Bullshit! I've raised a child before; I know better than you that Xavier needs breast milk. Formula can't compare to the nutrition in breast milk. Don't neglect my grandson just to spare yourself the trouble."

I couldn't suppress a sneer, thinking why I had somehow managed to preserve her reputation.

Just as I was on the verge of unveiling her duplicity, the phone in my pocket vibrated to life.

As the name "Jeremy" illuminated the screen, I stole a glance at Cathrine. For a brief moment, a radiant spark of joy danced across her features.

She stood as an amused spectator to a drama in the living room. I frowned, retreating to my room with the phone in hand. A sense of foreboding settled in my heart.

"Yvonne, have you been arguing with my mother again?"

The question was expected; I knew Cathrine would try to manipulate me first.

"Darling, did she complain about me to you?"

Usually, when I asked, Jeremy's demeanor would immediately mellow, and he might even apologize on his mother's behalf. But today, he deviated from his usual self, interrogating me with an uncharacteristic harshness.

"How can you, in your youth, dare to speak to my mother with such audacity? She merely mentioned that you weren't taking proper care of Xavier."

The villain indeed cried out first. I didn't dwell much on Jeremy's peculiar behavior but recounted the events of the past few days, deliberately omitting my suspicions of Cathrine's infidelity.

However, on the matter of the stolen milk, I remained steadfast.

"You keep insisting that your mother acts in Xavier's best interest, so why would she swap his nourishment?"

After I posed this question, Jeremy fell silent for a long while before finally uttering a response.

"My mother is Xavier's grandmother. She would never harm him."

He was clearly evading the issue. His mother accused me of mistreating his son, and he believed her without question. Yet, when I accused his mother of the same, he refused to accept it. His mother was Xavier's grandmother, but I was Xavier's biological mother!

The fire I had been containing grew stronger until it became unbearable. I shouted at the phone.

"Do you believe your mother over me?"

I stubbornly sought an answer, but he offered only vague, dismissive responses.

"Yvonne, don't be upset; that's not what I meant."

"Do you believe what you're saying?"

After disconnecting the call, I was left with a profound sense of disappointment. Yet, when I saw my son peacefully asleep in his bed, I couldn't bring myself to consider divorce.

Marriage was a tangled web. I thought I had prepared myself adequately before walking down the aisle, but I must admit that I still couldn't navigate it with composure.

Yet, Cathrine was so shameless, devoid of any moral compass. Exploiting my supposed lack of filial piety, she adopted a child and raised him alongside Xavier in our home.