Hearing the commotion, a middle-aged woman in a floral cotton jacket stepped out of the kitchen. She wore an apron and held a spatula in her right hand, smiling gently. “You’re back.”

Seeing Zhao Xiangwan, her smile grew even warmer. “Zhao Xiangwan, right? I’ve heard a lot about you from Yalan. Welcome!”

[In three years of high school, Yalan never brought a classmate home. I didn’t expect her to make friends so quickly in college. This is good. This girl looks simple and steady, which is reassuring.]

Hearing the sincerity in Zhang Yalan’s mother’s thoughts, Zhao Xiangwan greeted politely, “Hello, Auntie. Sorry to bother you.”

Zhang Yalan had worried that her mother might be unkind to her classmate or that Zhao Xiangwan wouldn’t like her. Seeing them get along well, she felt relieved. “Mom, is dinner ready? We’re starving.”

Yuan Dongmei was thin, with no flesh on her cheeks, a deep wrinkle between her eyebrows, and purple bruises on her forehead and mouth. When she heard her daughter cry that she was hungry, she quickly said, “I’m cooking now, wait a minute.”

Zhang Yalan stood at the entrance, glanced around, and pointed to where the dressing mirror used to be on the shoe cabinet. “Mom, where’s the mirror?”

Yuan Dongmei hesitated and looked at her daughter carefully. “I… I accidentally broke it and haven’t replaced it yet.”

[Her dad got drunk and got violent again yesterday. It took me a whole day to clean up the house. Yalan said she was bringing her classmates home, so I was busy buying groceries and cooking. I didn’t have time to change the mirror. I just hope… Yalan doesn’t blame me.]

The broken mirror, the bruised forehead and mouth, the unnatural walking posture—all these, combined with Zhang Yalan’s words that her father beat her when he was drunk, made Zhao Xiangwan certain Yuan Dongmei had suffered domestic violence last night. No wonder Zhang Yalan cried over the phone with her mother—it was both heartbreak and hatred.

Zhang Yalan was slightly nearsighted but disliked wearing glasses, so she didn’t notice her mother’s injuries at first. But after changing into slippers and walking in, she faced her mother and froze for half a second.

“Mom, you…”

Yuan Dongmei quickly lowered her head, raised her elbow to cover her injured cheek, and forced a smile. “I’m fine. I fell when I came in, broke the mirror, and got scratched. I’m fine, really.”

[Her father didn’t hit me hard yesterday. He just pushed me and slapped me twice. I don’t know if he was being kind or finally realizing his wife is the best. What’s there to fear if he has a woman outside? As long as he doesn’t mind that I gave birth to a girl and is willing to come home from time to time, I’ll be satisfied.]

Although Zhao Xiangwan had heard Zhang Yalan talk about her mother’s blind loyalty, hearing Yuan Dongmei’s thoughts firsthand made his heart sink.

Your husband abuses you, but you feel grateful because the beating wasn’t severe?

Even though he cheated on you, you still feel guilty for not having a son and would be satisfied if he just came home occasionally?

Zhang Yalan obviously didn’t believe her mother’s excuse. She stepped closer, examined the wound at the corner of her mother’s mouth, and clenched her teeth in anger. “Dad hit you again, didn’t he? Mom, stop being stubborn! Divorce him already! I’ll graduate in three and a half years, get a job, and support you!”

Yuan Dongmei avoided her daughter’s touch. “What nonsense are you saying? Your classmates are still here.”

Zhang Yalan put her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Mom, I’m serious. You’re suffering. Zhao Xiangwan is my good friend—I won’t hide anything from her.”

As she moved, Zhang Yalan’s knee accidentally hit Yuan Dongmei’s right leg. A muffled groan escaped, and her face twisted in pain.

Seeing Yuan Dongmei’s face turn pale, Zhao Xiangwan felt something was wrong and hurriedly stepped forward to support her lower back. Once she stabilized, he withdrew his hand and said, “Auntie’s foot is injured. Help her sit down quickly.”

Without giving Yuan Dongmei a chance to refuse, Zhang Yalan pushed her onto the sofa, rolled up her trouser leg, and revealed a large piece of gauze on her knee, with blood seeping through.

Zhang Yalan squatted down, eyebrows furrowed. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me last night that you were hurt this badly?”

Yuan Dongmei gently touched her daughter’s head. “I’m fine. The broken mirror just scratched me a little. I can handle it myself. It won’t affect my work. I don’t have much to do at home anyway—what else can I do besides buying groceries and cooking?”

Zhao Xiangwan took the spatula from Yuan Dongmei’s hand. “Auntie, let me cook. You should rest.”

Yuan Dongmei waved her hands quickly. “No, no, you’re a guest, and it’s your first time here. It wouldn’t be right to have you cook.”

[It’s just a scratch, nothing serious. Two years ago, I broke two ribs. Last year, my spleen ruptured. I stayed in the hospital for half a month—but I healed, didn’t I?]

Hearing this, Zhao Xiangwan’s heart clenched. “It’s okay, leave it to me.”

Zhao Xiangwan had started standing on stools to cook at six years old. Frying a few dishes was no challenge.

By six o’clock, as it got dark, she had quickly prepared the three dishes and one soup Yuan Dongmei had planned.

Stir-fried beef, shredded pork with sweet potato vermicelli, scrambled eggs with garlic leaves, and pork ribs and radish soup.

Yuan Dongmei had only cooked a pot of soup beforehand and had prepared the ingredients for the other dishes, intending to cook them once Yalan arrived. She hadn’t expected Zhao Xiangwan to finish so quickly. She couldn’t help but praise, “You’re such a capable child.”

Then she turned to her daughter and stroked her head, sighing. “You… you can’t do anything. What will you do in the future?”

Zhang Yalan tilted her head stubbornly. “I’m going to be a career woman, not a housewife like you.”

Yuan Dongmei’s eyes dimmed. She knew her daughter looked down on her.

[What else can a woman like me do besides housework? Yalan can go to college and become a police officer, but what about me? I used to sell sweaters, but after getting laid off, I became a housewife. I can’t do anything besides cleaning, buying groceries, and cooking.

Her father always looked down on me, saying I couldn’t even give birth to a son, that I was a sinner for not giving the Zhang family an heir. What else can a sinner like me do besides housework?

Yalan always says she’ll support me, but that’s just childish talk. She’ll fall in love, get married, and a married daughter is like spilled water. It’s useless to bring a burden like me along. It’s better for me to stay home alone. As long as her father returns occasionally and gives me some money, I’ll be satisfied.]

Hearing Yuan Dongmei’s thoughts, Zhao Xiangwan finally understood why she lived such a humble life.

First, she lacked a sense of self-worth.

Perhaps because she had been a housewife for so long after being laid off, Yuan Dongmei’s social connections weakened, and she lost any sense of value outside the family. Her self-worth came only from how her husband and daughter perceived her.

Her daughter, Zhang Yalan, lived in the school dormitory during high school and was only home on weekends and holidays. With her carefree personality, she was unaware of her mother’s emotional needs and unable to provide the praise and affirmation Yuan Dongmei longed for.

Her husband, Zhang Shihu, took Yuan Dongmei’s efforts for granted. He did not appreciate her keeping the house clean and cooking hot meals. Over time, as he gained wealth, his attitude worsened—he became dismissive, critical, and controlling.

As a result, Yuan Dongmei gradually internalized the belief that she was worthless and undeserving of care, love, or respect.

Stockholm Syndrome

While researching in the library, Zhao Xiangwan came across a case from a 1973 bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden. The criminals took four employees hostage, and after a six-day standoff, the police rescued them. However, the hostages sympathized with their captors, refused to testify against them, and even showed hostility toward the police. In criminal psychology, this phenomenon—where hostages form obedience and loyalty to their captors for survival—is known as “Stockholm Syndrome” ^[1]a psychological response where hostages develop loyalty to their captors..

Although Yuan Dongmei was not Zhang Shihu’s hostage and faced no immediate death threat, she endured long-term domestic violence and lacked support. To survive, she became submissive and dependent.

She had been beaten so severely that her ribs broke and her internal organs bled. Compared to that, two slaps felt like mercy.

After years of humiliation and belittlement, receiving occasional money seemed like care.

Zhang Yalan wanted to help her mother but only saw the surface issues. She had high expectations for Yuan Dongmei, so when she suggested, “Let’s get a divorce, I will support you,” Yuan Dongmei dismissed it as childish.

Support? How? Without a home or financial security, how could a newly graduated student support her mother? Life was unpredictable, and those four words—”I will support you”—were easy to say but incredibly difficult to fulfill.

Zhao Xiangwan took a sip of the pork ribs and radish soup and smiled. “It’s delicious.” The soup was rich with a meaty aroma and the sweetness of radish.

Zhang Yalan, accustomed to her mother’s cooking, found Zhao Xiangwan’s praise unusual. She took a sip and muttered, “Is it? It’s just so-so.”

Zhao Xiangwan’s simple words warmed Yuan Dongmei’s heart.

After all these years, it was the first time someone had praised her cooking. She smiled brightly and eagerly filled Zhao Xiangwan’s bowl. “Eat more if you like it.”

Zhang Yalan opened her mouth, but Zhao Xiangwan stopped her with a look.

Though Zhao Xiangwan spoke little, her relaxed expression and enjoyment conveyed her appreciation. Occasionally, she made precise compliments:

“The beef is very tender.”

Yuan Dongmei beamed. “Yes! You need to pound it with starch first and control the heat; otherwise, it overcooks.”

“The sweet potato vermicelli is tasty.”

“You have to soak it beforehand, then season it with soy sauce and salt,” Yuan Dongmei shared happily.

“Zhang Yalan is lucky to have a mother like you.”

These words struck deep. Yuan Dongmei suddenly put down her chopsticks and covered her face, tears spilling through her fingers.

Zhang Yalan panicked and clung to her mother. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Between muffled sobs, Yuan Dongmei said, “I’ve cooked and cleaned for so many years, but your grandma, your dad, and you—no one has ever praised me.”