My mother-in-law is extremely frugal.

She reuses paper others have discarded, carefully saving the unmarked portions. She even takes the black waste oil from the kitchen range hood and uses it to cook our meals. She says, "Frugality is a virtue—it brings blessings!"

I try tirelessly to convince her otherwise, throwing out all her filthy items to protect my family's health.

But while she praises me to my face, behind my back, she uses my baby's food scissors to clip her grimy toenails.

My child eventually dies of a lung infection, leaving me heartbroken. My mother-in-law, however, points her finger at me, saying I'm unlucky and that I've brought misfortune to their family. Even my husband blames me.

In the end, they use a knitting needle to pierce my throat and stab me to death.

When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day I first see her picking up dirty paper.

The first thing I do is hide all the high-quality tissue paper I had stocked up on before my pregnancy, pretending I knew nothing.

She calls these blessings, right? Fine. The blessings of this miserly frugality—she can reap them all herself!

I watched with my own eyes as my husband, Rufus Truman, used the "specially treated" toilet paper prepared by my mother-in-law, Hilda Mane.

After he used it, Hilda even went up to him and asked how it felt.

Rubbing his backside thoughtfully, Rufus replied, "It's great! The texture is really soft."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Of course, the texture was good—Hilda had spent over an hour meticulously "selecting" it. She had picked them out of her little packet of "special" toilet paper.

Hilda shot me a glare but then smirked triumphantly. She lifted her chin proudly and boasted, "Of course! I got all of this for free!"

Rufus probably thought she had snagged a good deal at some supermarket. He gave her a thumbs-up and praised her, "You're so thrifty, Mom. I must say that you're really good at saving money."

That compliment made her even happier. She grinned and said gleefully, "I'll get more of those next time."

But her joy didn't last long.

That very night, Rufus started suffering from severe pain and itching.

He was scratching at his bottom and yelling, "Help! My butt is killing me!"

Before he was even done complaining, Hilda had barged into our room. Without a word, she yanked down his pants and underwear. I was Rufus' wife, yet the way Hilda handled him was way more intimate and unabashed.

She examined his rear closely and cried out in alarm.

It was all red and swollen. At that point, it had gotten so painful that he was writhing on the floor.

Rufus shrieked, "Mom! I need to go to the hospital! Take me to the hospital now!"

Hilda hesitated for a moment but quickly refused. "No! Absolutely not!"

She was panicking. In fact, she was terrified that the secret about her "specially treated" toilet paper would be exposed.

Nevertheless, I smirked and dialed 911 without hesitation.

Hilda became immensely flustered. She slapped her thigh in exasperation and exclaimed loudly, "No! Don't do that! An ambulance ride costs a lot of money a trip! This isn't a serious illness. He just needs to tough it out!"

I shook my head. "Mom, this is a medical emergency. We can't ignore it."

Rufus kept wailing and was nearly on his knees as he begged Hilda.

In my previous life, Rufus had never suffered like this under my protection! He had no idea that his pain was entirely Hilda's doing.

He always said Hilda was a frugal woman. But after she moved into my house after I gave birth, I realized she wasn't frugal—she was downright miserly to a fault!

She often picked up discarded toilet paper from the trash bins in public restrooms. After removing various pieces that were stained red or yellow, she folded the remaining ones neatly and disguised them as clean paper.

When I found out, I threw them all away before anyone could use them and replaced them with the best, most expensive toilet paper that I purchased myself.

To my surprise, Hilda started criticizing me for being wasteful because I spent a lot of money on buying toilet paper. To make up for the money spent on buying toilet paper, she even used waste oil collected from the kitchen range hood to cook meals for us!

Of course, I was enraged when I discovered what she'd been doing. I did all I could to correct her mindset and behavior to protect my family's safety.

Hilda pretended to understand and agree on the surface. However, she secretly harbored a grudge against me.

To save on buying nail clippers, she secretly used my son's baby food scissors to trim her toenails. As a result, my son, Ralph Truman, contracted a lung infection and died before he'd even reached a year old.

When I confronted her, she played the victim. "How could you blame me for this? You're so ungrateful! I only did this for the family! Frugality is a virtue! It's a blessing to a family when someone practices it!"

As if that wasn't enough, she accused me of being a jinx and bringing misfortune to their family.

Before I could even argue back, Rufus slapped me hard. He blamed me for not taking care of Ralph properly and said I wasn't fit to be a mother. As punishment, they tied me up and watched as Hilda stabbed me to death with a knitting needle.

All my sacrifices and efforts to protect those I considered my family meant nothing to them. This time, I made up my mind to not intervene and let nature run its course.

On the way to the hospital, Hilda spent the entire ambulance ride trying to convince us to turn back.

The thought of spending a lot of money for the trip was killing her. She couldn't accept the fact that we'd have to fork out so much money. Throughout the journey, she pretended to feel dizzy and nauseous, but no one in the vehicle paid her any attention.

At the hospital, the doctor did a thorough examination and said, "It's a dual infection in the anal and urinary tracts."

Rufus' face turned pale upon hearing this. Stammering, he tried to explain, "B-But I haven't eaten anything unusual!"

The doctor went on, "This has nothing to do with food. It's likely caused by using unsanitary toilet paper…"

Hilda's grip on the edge of the table tightened.

"It could also be caused by sitting on a toilet for too long," the doctor added.

Upon hearing this, Hilda discreetly let out a sigh of relief. She then asked, "Is it serious?"

"It's not severe right now, but if left untreated, it could lead to intestinal infections," the doctor warned.

Ignoring the second part entirely, Hilda quickly interjected, "If it's not serious, let's just go home. Medical treatments cost an arm and a leg. It's a waste of money."

I asked the doctor anxiously, "What should we do?"

The doctor put away the medical report and said, "First, we need to perform a digital rectal exam."

I glanced at Hilda, who stood to the side. Her drooping right eyelid twitched. If the exam uncovered the truth, she'd be done for.

Her lips twitched, and she resorted to shameless slander.

She pointed at the doctor and exclaimed shrilly, "No way! We won't go for any such examination! You doctors are all greedy! You just want to profit from us ordinary folks unscrupulously!

"You push for examinations unnecessarily to earn money! Who knows how much these examinations really cost? My son's rear is perfectly fine!"

Then, she turned and pointed at me accusatorily. "And you! You insisted on coming here! What were you thinking? Are you hoping that something is really wrong with Rufus?"

Her voice was so loud that everyone waiting outside the room turned to stare. Their expressions were curious and judgmental.

The doctor, who was clearly insulted, grimaced scornfully. Still, he maintained his professionalism and said as calmly as he could, "The exam is a necessary procedure. Will you do it or not?"

Rufus couldn't decide. He'd always been a mama's boy. In the past, whenever Hilda said something wasn't a problem, he believed her.

But this time, we had a professional doctor weighing in on the situation.

He turned to me for advice. "Minerva, what do you think?"

I had intervened countless times to prevent situations like this in my previous life. Despite that, where had it gotten me in the end?

This time, I couldn't be bothered to help him.

"I agree with Mom," I said instantly, fully supporting Hilda's nonsense.

Rufus still looked uncertain.

I was afraid that he might value his life too much and agree to the exam, so I leaned in and whispered in his ear.

His expression shifted, and he firmly refused to go through with the rectal exam.

Pointing at the doctor, he shouted in disgust, "What the hell? You pervert! You just wanted an excuse to touch me!"

He then clutched his backside protectively and went on, "You're just a perverted gay man obsessed with butts!"

Inspired by Rufus' outburst, Hilda chimed in, "Exactly! Stay away from my son, you vile man!"

The doctor had never been this humiliated before in his life. His face was a deep shade of red. Despite his rage, his upbringing and manners didn't allow him to curse or run his mouth.

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water while trembling with anger. He turned to me and asked, "What exactly did you say to him?"

I didn't respond.

All I had said was, "Only gay men are into butt action."

Who could've guessed Rufus would shout it out like that?

As we left, the people in the waiting area whispered among themselves. Their comments were harsh and mocking.

"I've never seen such shameless people!"

"That lady is something else. She did all this just to save a few bucks."

"They're so uncouth and uneducated that it's terrifying! Are they alright in the head?"

Hilda wasn't someone to be trifled with. She cursed the onlookers all the way out of the hospital. Somehow, she even managed to hold her own.

At long last, we got home. We had barely laid down for a moment before Rufus started groaning and whining. When he didn't feel well, he made sure no one else could sleep either.

He wouldn't ask for help; he'd just make noise until you couldn't ignore him. His selfishness was insufferable. Even Ralph, who was sleeping in the cradle nearby, was woken up by the noises he was making.

At that point, I knew I wouldn't get any sleep if I stuck around.

Rufus stared at me with a smug, provoking expression that said, "Your husband is sick. How can you sleep through it? Now that the baby's awake, you won't get to sleep anyway. Get up and take care of me!"

But I was still recovering after giving birth at that point. By then, I'd long seen him for who he was. He wasn't a man who was worth my time and dedication.

"It was your mom who said you weren't sick. Ask her to take care of you." With that, I picked up Ralph and headed to another room. "Since you woke the baby, we'll sleep separately tonight."

Rufus shouted after me furiously, but I ignored him. He tried to grab at me but didn't manage to do so because of the pain in his backside. All he could do was lie there and throw a tantrum in vain.

As I walked away, I heard Hilda comforting him. "She only cares about her son. Do you see which one of us treats you better now?"

Rufus was moved as he said, "You're the best, Mom!"

I chuckled to myself while thinking, "Your mom's the best, huh? Who was the one who let you use contaminated toilet paper and refused to let you get treatment?"

Like mother, like son—they were both equally ridiculous people.

Later that night, I heard a loud, buzzing rumble.

When I went to check, I found Hilda grinding chilies with the blender in the middle of the night. The moment she saw me, she rolled her eyes and turned her back on me without uttering a word.

I didn't ask what that was about. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

As expected, the master bedroom echoed with screams that sounded like a pig being slaughtered a short while later.