The Rosa–Mariz controversy left cracks in my heart that hadn't yet healed. Even though Mariz herself sided with me, I couldn't forget how quickly I was thrown into the fire, accused, and judged. It left me wary, a little more guarded in every conversation. The smiles in the house felt thinner, more forced, as if everyone had rehearsed their civility while suspicion brewed beneath.
But life never allowed me the luxury of recovery. Before the old wounds could even scab over, new conflicts emerged, this time from a different corner of the family web.
Neven's Sickness
It began when Neven fell ill. Weeks stretched into what felt like months—his cough lingered, his small body weakened, and my chest grew tighter with every day. The worry was heavy enough on its own, but soon, the phone began to buzz with sharp messages, each one pressing salt into the wound.
Nalyn and Keon—two of Noah's sisters—were relentless.
"Why hasn't Noah come home yet?" one message read.
"Neven is sick. Your mother-in-law hasn't slept in nights. What kind of father is he?" another accused.
I stared at the screen, my hands trembling. I wanted to scream: Do you think we don't care? Do you think we don't know he's sick?
Noah sighed heavily one night, tossing his phone onto the bed. "They don't understand, Noira. They think I can just walk away from work."
I pressed my lips together. "They're not even asking the right thing. If they're worried, why don't they ask us for money for the doctor instead of demanding that we come home? It's as if they want us to prove our love by our presence rather than help in the way that matters."
But the messages didn't stop. They always directed their demands at Noah, never at me. And though a small part of me was grateful, another part burned with frustration. Was it because they thought I was immovable? Or was it simply because they knew Noah's heart was softer, easier to push?
"I pity him," I whispered to myself some nights. "I pity Noah for having sisters who don't try to understand."
Homecoming
Eventually, I decided to take matters into my own hands. It was my day off, and Neven's condition hadn't improved. "We'll go," I told Noah. "At least for a few days. Three, four days. We'll give your mother some rest."
So we traveled home.
When we arrived, I braced myself for confrontation. But instead, silence greeted us. Nalyn and Keon, who had been so sharp on the phone, wore plastered smiles now. Their mouths, once full of fire, were sewn shut with politeness.
"Neven's looking better," one of them said lightly.
"Good thing you came," the other added, as if the weeks of accusations had never happened.
I wanted to laugh, bitter and sharp. Where was the venom from their messages? Where was the urgency that had kept me awake at night? Instead, I bit down my tongue and busied myself with Neven, reminding myself that peace, even forced, was better than another war.
After three or four days, we returned to the National City. The cycle resumed.
The Sudden Resignation
But then came a blow I hadn't expected—Noah resigned.
It was sudden, almost reckless in my eyes. One day he was working; the next, he handed in his notice.
"Why?" I asked him, my voice sharper than I intended. "Why would you do that when we're just starting to find stability?"
He looked down, guilt written across his face. "It wasn't working out. I thought… maybe I could find something better."
"Better?" My chest tightened. "Noah, we can't afford risks like this. Not now."
And just like that, the fragile structure we had built wobbled. My own salary, though steady, wasn't enough to cover everything. The little stability we had carved out vanished overnight, leaving only questions.
He tried, of course. He applied to other jobs, went to assessments, sat through interviews. Twice, he came home with disappointment etched across his face, having failed the assessments. Each time, the silence between us grew heavier.
The Allowance Demands
As if on cue, the sisters returned.
This time, their messages weren't just about Neven being sick. They demanded a weekly allowance for Mom-in-law, painting us as cruel children letting her suffer.
"She's sleepless because of Neven," one said.
"You're letting her despair," another accused.
Their words weren't requests. They were accusations dressed as obligations. And though both of us were responsible, their eyes seemed fixed on me.
"Why me?" I muttered to Noah one night, scrolling through the messages. "Why is it always me? They know I'm working, so they target me as if it's my sole duty. As if Neven isn't our child but mine alone, and his mother's well-being is mine to guarantee."
Noah rubbed his temples. "Ignore them, Noira. They don't understand."
But ignoring was easier said than done.
My Mother's Voice
When I finally confided in my own mother, her reaction was sharp, protective.
"Did the one demanding all this even give your mother-in-law a sum themselves?" she asked, her brows furrowed. "If they didn't, then what right do they have to put everything on you?"
Her words hit deep. She was right. Why was I carrying the weight of expectations others weren't even fulfilling? Why was I being painted as negligent when I was the one working, the one juggling sleepless nights, the one constantly stretched thin?
Cracks at Work
Even at work, the tension followed me. My colleagues noticed the way my phone lit up with messages, how my face tightened every time I glanced at the screen.
"Problems again?" one asked gently.
I forced a smile. "Just family things."
But inside, I was unraveling. The stress clung to me like smoke, impossible to shake off. Every notification was another blow, another reminder that no matter how hard I worked, it was never enough for someone.
Sometimes I wished I could turn it all off—mute the phone, silence the demands, and live only within the small world of my work and Neven's laughter. But life didn't give me that option. I was a mother, a wife, a daughter-in-law—and to them, that meant I was a vessel of responsibility, one they could pour all their expectations into until I drowned.
Standing Still in the Storm
The months stretched on, the conflicts blending together into a storm with no clear eye. One moment it was about Neven's health, the next about allowances, then about Noah's unemployment.
Every night, I held Neven close, breathing in his warmth. "You're the reason I move forward," I whispered against his hair. "Without you, I'd have given up long ago."
But as I drifted into uneasy sleep, one truth remained: love was my anchor, but the storm wasn't ending anytime soon.