It hadn’t even been a week since I had given birth, I was writhing in pain, the baby was very naughty, and my husband Rohan was on a business trip abroad. I had no choice but to ask my mother-in-law Sarla ji to come from Lucknow to Bengaluru so that she could take care of the child for some time. Before they arrived, he called and said plainly:

“I’m taking care of the baby, not staying there for free. It will cost you Rs 7,000-8,000 to call someone from outside, I charge ₱20,100 per month, which is very less. ”

When I heard this, I got blood on my face. I quietly hung up the phone. The next day, I went to pick him up as usual, but quietly gave him an envelope containing exactly ₱20,10, as “gift money”.

He didn’t say anything, just smiled slightly. The atmosphere of the house was heavy as lead throughout the next month. She did not complain, yet she kept holding the child in her lap, washing the diapers, rubbing mustard oil on the child, boiling neem leaves and bathing him. As far as I’m concerned, I… I was getting irritated, so I became even more apathetic, and counted down the days until the period of isolation was over.

When my child was a year old, I sent him to playschool early in the name of “discipline.” That same afternoon, she packed her belongings and went back to her hometown without staying a night.

I heaved a sigh of relief, thought it was all over.

A few days later, taking advantage of the holiday, I cleaned the room where she lived. Flipping over the mattress, removing the mat, I suddenly saw a thin envelope hidden on the edge of the bed. As soon as I opened it—my heart stopped. Inside, there were small bundles of money, each with ₹3,000, and a piece of paper with neat handwriting in purple ink:

1st month: The child had a fever at night, bought medicine and drove to the Public Health Center (PHC).

2nd month: Baby had diarrhoea, ran out of diapers, bought a temporary imported diaper for ₹390

3rd month: Power outage, rented a rechargeable fan for child’s bedroom/deposited a small inverter.

Fourth month: The child broke the glass of the cupboard, changed it to avoid injury.

May: Buy mosquito nets and bite cream.

June: Buy ORS and digestive enzymes; Wash the baby’s clothes separately with mild soap.

July: Get vaccinated, compensate for the gap.

August: The gas tank ran out at midnight, immediately ordered new diapers to make porridge.

September: Rent a nebulizer for 2 days if the child wheezes.

October: Change the cradle mattress because it had mold several times.

November: Buy celery and mustard oil to apply on the baby’s tummy.

December: Submit a temporary deposit for the first week of playschool.

At the end of the list, a neat line:

“Total: ₹36,000 — not a penny less. ”

And underneath, a folded paper, on which is neatly written still in purple ink:

“I don’t owe anything to my daughter-in-law.
I’m just afraid that when she grows up, she’ll learn to count every penny with someone who truly loves her. ”

I sat on the floor. Every envelope of ₹3,000—which I gave him every month—he didn’t spend a penny, he kept them and kept them hidden, and he also quietly took care of his grandchildren.

A wave of shame ran through my mind: When the child was sick, who was there for him all night? When the power went out, who was going to fan it? When the diapers ran out in the rain, who drove in the rain to buy them? Where was I on those nights?

I was holding the paper, the words still smelling of fresh ink. I had the salty taste of tears in my throat.

That night, I called Sarla ji. The phone rang for a long time, then someone picked it up. I could only say one sentence, suffocating and trembling:

“Mom… I’m sorry. I was wrong. ”

On the other side of the phone, he sighed softly:

“No one owes anything to anyone. I just hope you love your grandchildren more—and yourself. ”

The next day, I arrived at playschool early, hugging my son tightly. I asked Rohan to cut short his business trip, then hand-write a new spending plan: babysitting, emergency medical expenses, monthly help for Grandma—not to repay the debt, but to repay the goodness.

At night, I put the envelope back in the drawer—containing ₹36,000 altogether—to set aside for my son. Above, I glued a small piece of paper, with purple ink:

“Mom, I understand. I’ll learn to count… But I’ll count with tenderness, not money. ”