After dinner, Huong let Elle go directly to the television without helping with clean up. Michelle grumbled, again saying she wished she too were sick because she was responsible for all of the dishes. Huong held her ground, knowing Viet would inevitably come to the little one’s side.

On Monday morning, Elle stayed home from school. Huong heard the girl coughing incessantly. She was grateful she worked the night shift precisely for these unforeseen events. This way, Huong was always available in the days and Viet covered the evenings and they didn’t have the expense of a sitter. Having the day also allowed Huong the opportunity to make the dishes she believed would yield the speediest recovery. She disliked her daughters missing any school. Huong prayed for two things every night at their ancestral shrine: good health and good grades.

On Tuesday, the coughing lessened. Her temperature had dropped. But still, Huong said it would be safer to wait.

On Wednesday, Elle was ready for school. Huong woke up early to make egg noodle soup for breakfast. She looked on while her family slurped away, splattered on her tablecloth, and talked with their mouths full. She bit her tongue and didn’t reprimand them once.

In the afternoon, she rushed to greet the girls at the bus stop before going to work. Usually, she met them only on special occasions like birthdays and holidays. Michelle was clearly excited to see her. Elle offered a weak smile from behind the grimy glass of the yellow school bus.

“Remind your father that the halibut soup needs to be boiled but then turned off immediately,” she said. “And don’t put too much fish sauce in the noodles because it overwhelms the grilled beef.” To celebrate Elle’s recovery, Huong made each girl her favorite dish.

Huong held Elle by the shoulders at arms distance to examine her. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t look okay. Worse than this morning.”

Elle looked down at the sidewalk. She wiggled out of reach.

“Are you tired?”

“Yeah, I just want to go home Mom.”

Huong sat at the electronics assembly line preoccupied all night. She didn’t like Elle’s mood and couldn’t understand it. When she spoke of it at break, her co-workers dismissed her fears. “You know how girls are at that age. All those hormones out of whack.”

The next morning, Huong stayed in bed. She let the sounds floating outside her door drift by. She heard Viet and the girls shuffling around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, the tightening of thermos lids and clanging of lunch boxes as they packed their lunches. She kept her shutters drawn and the lights out. She stared at the ceiling. Had Elle not wanted vermicelli noodles yesterday? Was it no longer her favorite? Was she getting spoiled with the extra attention? For her daughter’s own good, Huong decided the niceness was ending. Everyone was the same, even your own flesh and blood. As soon as you show some heart, they crush you.