Inside, the family stared at the cracked table like it might suddenly explode.
Vanessa clutched her chest. "Old man send a telegram. Tell your son to COME BACK! That girl is terrifying. Who knew she had that kind of strength? She'll kill us in our sleep!"
Elizabeth burst into tears. "I don't want to share a room with her anymore! Last night Father said I should sleep with her—if she gets angry, she could strangle me like a chicken!"
Philip rubbed his forehead, looking older by the second. "Even if we telegraph him, he might not get leave. The factory is busy."
He sighed heavily. "But the child's right about one thing. If it weren't for helping Ryan, he wouldn't have gotten that promotion. The boy said he might be appointed deputy factory director soon." He shook his head. "I married an ancestor to save money and now we can't return her."
Before anyone could respond, the front door pushed open.
"Is anyone home? Elizabeth?"
A woman in a black cotton jacket and blue pants stepped in—, their neighbor. Her expression darkened the moment she saw the chaotic room.
"What happened? I heard shouting all the way in the courtyard!"
Mary, who had stayed just outside, quietly leaned closer to the doorframe. She wanted to know what was being said now that she was gone.
Vanessa pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh, Nyssa it's that second daughter-in-law. She wants to split the family and even hit the table—look! She broke it!"
Nyssa gasped dramatically. "Aiyaa, so the rumors are true after all."
Martha grabbed her arm anxiously. "What rumors? Aunt, tell us!"
Nyssa pulled her arm free, rubbing it. "Child, you pinched me like a crab. Anyway, my daughter's aunt came over yesterday. I told her Ryan was marrying Mary. Guess what she said?"
Vanessa leaned forward nervously. "What? Don't keep us hanging!"
Nyssa lowered her voice, her expression serious. "She said Mary's name is known in her village—and in several villages nearby. That girl can eat and she can fight. They say she can finish two kg of rice in one meal. And when she was ten years old, she beat up the village thief. He had been stealing for years and no one could catch him. But she did—at ten! Every family in the Village talks about it."
Silence.
The entire family stared at the broken table again as if it suddenly made perfect sense.
Martha's lips twitched. Elizabeth swallowed loudly. Vanessa went pale.
Philip wiped his face with both hands.
In order to save money, he had brought home a whole ancestor.
And now it seemed far too late to return the goods.
*
The household sank into silence after Mary's explosive exit. Only the creaking of the cracked table filled the room.
Philip rubbed his temples, voice tight with helplessness.
"What can we do now? The second son isn't home. The eldest goes to work before dawn. Third Brother is a child—he can't do anything." He exhaled heavily. "If she wanted to crush us, it'd only take a few punches."
He didn't dare say it too loudly, but everyone knew he was thinking the same thing.
Elizabeth sat trembling, her face the color of rice water. "Father, I think we should split up. If she stays here, something bad will happen. No one can beat her except Second Brother."
Vanessa turned on her daughter so fast the girl recoiled.
"Split up? Absolutely not! Your second brother sends ALL his salary to this family. If we split, what will we live on? Your third brother still has to study! You need a dowry! And don't forget—her family didn't even want one from us. I was happy for days! I thought we were lucky. Turns out we brought home a disaster!"
Her regret twisted her face cruelly. Stealing a chicken only to lose a handful of rice—that was what this marriage felt like to her.
Martha, however, watched quietly with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Let's be practical," she said gently, though her tone was anything but. "First, we send a telegram to Ryan. Ask him to come back as soon as he can. While we wait, we humor her. Keep her calm. Once Ryan returns, I'll find a way to get the two of them divorced."
Her eyes flashed with jealousy.
"This year, my aunt wanted to match my cousin Sophie to Ryan. A good man like him, and instead he married her. Fifty pounds wasted. My heart bleeds just thinking about it." She scoffed softly. "Don't worry. I'll make sure this marriage doesn't last."
Vanessa nodded grimly. "This is the only way."
Through the cracks in the doorway, Mary listened to every word.
Every insult.
Every scheme.
Every plan to push her out once Ryan returned.
Her chest tightened—not with sadness, but with fury.
Your family schemed against me. Your son didn't consummate the marriage. Your parents and siblings treat me like a free pantry. And you think you can toss me aside once the timing suits you?
She thought of her own mother—the gentle woman who had pressed a hundred pounds into her hand before the wedding. She had said, "Just in case. I don't want you to suffer." That small kindness felt like a warm memory compared to the cold opportunism of the Song family.
Anger burned through her.
Fine. If they want to fight, I'll show them what a real danger looks like.
*
From that day forward, the original Mary had begun her silent war.
She stopped washing the family's clothes, refused to cook, and refused to clean. She ate meat for every meal—meat bought with her own mother's money—and she remained in her room the rest of the time.
And whenever Vanessa or Martha came to scold her, she would slam her hand on the table.
CRACK.
One table broke.
Then another.
By the time Ryan finally managed to return two months later, the
family's furniture had suffered more damage than a small earthquake.
Ryan, hearing the chaos, didn't hesitate. He packed her things and took her with him back to the steel factory dormitory—ignoring his family's protests, their tears, and their complaints about "losing their support."
But once in the city, the original owner became sick. The change in climate made her feverish, and she kept Ryan awake with her crying, whining, and tantrums. He couldn't work properly unless she finally fell asleep.
The memories made Mary sigh deeply.
This girl really was determined.
Annoying, stubborn, spoiled—but also earnest in her own way. Hardheaded enough to fight the world with her fists and her appetite.
*
Back to the Present
Mary stretched slowly, muscles stiff from sleep, and sat up. Her head still throbbed faintly. The sky outside the window had turned dusky; evening was approaching. She rubbed her arms, feeling the unfamiliar heaviness there.
I must be close to 160 pounds, she thought with a grimace. How did she grow so much? Laziness? Hunger? Eating everyone else's food?
The room around her was small and bare, containing only necessities. Two rooms and a little living space that barely held a table and a few chairs. It looked like someone had recently moved in.
She shuffled toward the smaller room—the bathroom.
A small, cracked mirror hung on the wall. The glass was so scratched she could barely see herself.
But what she could see made her pause.
A round, chubby face.
Double eyelids.
A tall nose bridge.
Two long braids tied neatly with red ribbons.
And beneath the weight, real beauty—hidden beneath layers she could shed if she wanted.
She washed her face, combed her hair, and skipped the shower. She still felt dizzy and didn't want to pass out naked on the floor.
Then she opened the original owner's bag.
Her heart dropped.
Red clothes.
Green clothes.
More red. More green.
Like a walking vegetable market.
The pants were acceptable. But the shirts were questionable. And the underwear—two small vests. The one she wore earlier had been painfully tight. The one she held now looked even smaller.
She stood there staring at it, despairing.
How am I supposed to live like this?