I smiled, realizing my aunt would always come and go as she pleased. After talking softly to the baby while watching me eat, Auntie Choo Neo handed her back to me and started spreading cream and jam on her own scone. “Your father’s upset with you,” she informed me.

“I know,” I replied.

“There’s no sense in looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

“I’m not looking for her, Auntie.”

“Are you sure? It sounded like you wanted to know where she is.”

“I just want to know what happened. I thought he might want to talk about it.”

“There’s a Chinese saying: ‘The tree has been made into a boat.’ Do you know what that means?”

I shook my head.

“What’s done is done. We can’t turn back time, and we can’t change anything. Let things lie. Your mother cast her life in a new direction. We don’t know why, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Bo pian lah, you have no choice. Besides, we don’t want the ghost of your mother to snatch this baby.”

I was shocked by my aunt’s superstitious talk. I knew it was futile to pursue the discussion any further. Father and Auntie were not interested in opening the past, and I didn’t have the energy to fight them. Still, it bothered me that everyone treated Mother like she was a ghost wandering around in purgatory. We weren’t allowed to talk about her in case her wayward soul returned to taunt or curse us.

“Now, Beatrice wants to settle a date for the red egg celebration. You can say no to her, but not to me. Winston has married that seow char bor, crazy woman, denying me any grandchildren. This is my only chance to be a proper po po,” Auntie declared.

My eyes filled with tears. I was so wrapped up in my own selfish need to have a mother that it hadn’t occurred to me until this moment that my daughter was missing a po po. It touched me that Auntie Choo Neo wanted to fulfill that role. When I was young, Auntie Choo Neo was a force to be feared, and her manipulations were terrifying, but in her old age she had become softer and warmer.

When Father was at his lowest point after Mother disappeared, Auntie took care of everything. She packed our lunches, signed our school forms, did the laundry, shopped for the groceries, and made dinner. It must have been hard to step in to raise two girls on the cusp of our teenage years, but she became our mother without saying so out loud. And while she complained loudly and often about the extra work we created for her, she never seemed to need our approval or thanks. She did it selflessly, though sometimes in her own cantankerous way. At the time, I hated Auntie Choo Neo, resenting her for taking on Mother’s role, thinking that made it easier for Mother not to return. My bitterness grew during my teenage years, as Auntie tried to control me with strict rules and punishments. Whenever she was around, I couldn’t hang out with my friends or go where I wanted. She confined me to my homework, my piano lessons, and my chores at home. I didn’t appreciate her then, but she was doing what any parent does—trying to protect us, teach us, and guide us into the world of adulthood.