The Fishwife's Rise

On New Year's Eve, as fireworks shot up into the night sky and burst into a blaze of gold and red, I'd just set the last dish of braised fish on the table. My fingertips were still sticky with fish scales that hadn't been cleaned off, the fishy smell mingling with the aroma of food, clinging stubbornly to my nose. "Mom, sit down first, try the chicken soup I made—it's been simmering for a full two hours, the bones nearly falling apart!" Jack Collins held a white porcelain soup bowl and leaned toward Laura Clark, his tone sickeningly sweet, like he was trying to squeeze honey out of it. Laura Clark sat down slowly, took the soup bowl, sipped a little without even lifting her eyelids, and just said lightly, "Well, at least there's some filial devotion, not like some people who reek all day long. Just being near them is disgusting. All they care about is some dumb fish stall drama—annoying to even look at." Her gaze swept over me, sharp as a needle. I clenched my chopsticks so hard my knuckles went white, forced a stiff smile at the corner of my mouth, and swallowed the words back down. I've heard this for years—ever since I married into the Collins Family, it never stops. I learned early on to just keep my mouth shut. Jimmy Collins sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, cracking sunflower seeds nonstop, shells flying onto the floor and tablecloth as he shouted without a care, "Brother, I've really been helping out at home this year, so don't leave me out of that 'family award ceremony' of yours!" "You won't be left out." Jack Collins smiled, pulled out a wad of cash, counted out five thousand, and handed it over, his fingers almost showing off, "Here, take this—don't shortchange yourself, buy whatever you want." Jimmy snatched the money and stuffed it into his pocket, deliberately glancing at me with his chin raised, saying, "You're still the generous one, bro! Way better than some people who've been running around all year, yet don't even get a hint of recognition." Laura glanced at the stack of cash, then gave Jack Collins a mock scolding slap on the arm, "Don't keep spoiling him. Always loafing around and blowing money—what's he gonna do when no girl wants to marry him?" "Mom, Jimmy's only twenty-two. This is the age to mess around. He'll grow up once he's had his fun." Jack Collins pulled out a red cloth pouch and carefully opened it, revealing a shiny gold bracelet. He gently slipped it onto Laura's wrist, "It's pure gold—wear it when you play mahjong, and I guarantee all your friends will be jealous." Laura Clark rubbed her bracelet, her wrinkled face lighting up with a smile as she grabbed Jack Collins' hand, rubbing it over and over: "You're the only one who really understands me. My son's so devoted—it wasn't a waste raising you." The whole family was chatting and laughing around the table. The braised fish, stewed chicken soup, stir-fried greens—every dish was something I'd been working on since the afternoon, and yet nobody even asked me to have a bite. I sat on a little chair in the corner, watching Jack hand out red envelopes and gifts one by one, still clinging to the slightest hope that he'd mention my name. He didn't even glance my way after handing out everything. He just took a sip of his tea and stayed quiet. "Jack, what about mine?" I couldn't help but speak up, my voice trembling. The smile on Jack Collins's face disappeared instantly. He set down his tea cup and said coldly, "Yours? What exactly do you have to be recognized for?" "I ran the fish stall all year, getting up at three in the morning to stock up at the seafood market, coming home at night to look after Mom, do the laundry, cook — I handled everything at home. Doesn't that count as effort?" I gripped the edge of the table, leaning forward a bit, pressing him for answers. "Giving back?" Laura Clark slammed her soup bowl down on the table, the ceramic clattering loudly, and sneered, "Women taking care of housework and earning money for the family has always been their god-given duty! Back then, I was raising kids and farming, working from dawn till dusk, ten times harder than you, and I never acted like I needed a medal for it!" Jimmy Collins chewed a sunflower seed, spat out the shell, and said with a sneer, "Exactly, Mindy, you hardly make any money and it all goes to support the family, right? Everything you eat, wear, or use, is provided by your brother here. And you have the nerve to ask for a medal? Seriously, shame on you." I looked at their self-righteous faces one by one, and the warmth inside me slowly turned cold, like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on me. Jack Collins suddenly pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and slapped it down on the table in front of me. "This is for you." His tone was flat but carried an undeniable authority. My hands trembling, I unfolded the paper. It was an IOU, messy handwriting but clear: "Mindy Lynn owes Jack Collins three thousand eight hundred, including living expenses, utilities, daily necessities (including sanitary pads)." The date on it was today. "What does that even mean?" I gripped the IOU so tight my fingers went white, my voice was trembling. "It means that since you're eating and living off the Collins Family, everything has to be settled." Jack leaned back, arms crossed, acting like it was obvious. "The fish stall was mine before we got married. Bottom line, you're working for me. You think the Collins Family's gonna support you forever?" "I hand over every single cent I earn at the fish stall, don't even splurge on a new outfit priced at fifty, eating leftovers every day. So how on earth am I living off you?" My voice suddenly changed tone, loaded with suppressed hurt and anger. "Every penny in this house needs to be counted. Don't even think about freeloading off the Collins Family." Jack raised an eyebrow, dripping with sarcasm, "You think the Collins Family's some charity, feeding and clothing you without expecting anything back?" Jimmy slapped his thigh and laughed until he was bent over, "Haha, Mindy, tracking your use of sanitary pads too? Your life's really rough, huh.""Should've said earlier, I'd have bought that for you. It doesn't cost much—no need for my brother to get so worked up over it." Those words felt like a million needles stabbing right into my heart, anger and bitterness mixed with despair all rushing up at once. Outside, the fireworks were in full swing, their bright flashes reflecting off the window, but I felt chilled to the bone, like I'd fallen into an ice cellar. The pad of my finger holding the IOU was cut by the paper's edge, a thin line of blood seeping out, mixed with the lingering fishy smell on my fingertips—sharp and bone-deep. Turns out, all my hard work this past year was just traded for this ridiculous IOU.