The first lady said proudly, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “When my first child was born, my husband went above and beyond and built me this absolutely stunning mansion. Every detail was perfect—the marble floors, the grand staircase, the sprawling gardens—it was like something out of a fairy tale. I was overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude.”
The second lady smiled politely and replied, “Well, isn’t that nice?” Her tone was gentle, almost dismissive, but she listened with interest.
The first lady wasn’t finished. “And when my second child arrived, he surprised me yet again—this time with that gorgeous Cadillac parked right in front of the house. I could hardly believe it! The leather seats, the shiny chrome, the way it gleamed in the sunlight—it felt like he wanted to make every moment of motherhood unforgettable.”
Again, the second woman responded with her usual calm demeanor, “Well, isn’t that nice?”
The first lady leaned in slightly, unable to contain her pride. “And when my third child was born,” she said with a triumphant grin, “he gave me this dazzling diamond bracelet. Each diamond seemed to sparkle with joy, almost like it was celebrating the new life I had brought into the world. Every time I wear it, I’m reminded of his generosity and love.”
The second lady, as always, replied sweetly, almost ritualistically, “Well, isn’t that nice?”
After a pause, curiosity finally got the better of one of them. “Tell me,” she asked softly, leaning closer, “what happened to your son? How is he doing now?”
“Oh, my poor son!” sighed the mother, her eyes clouded with concern and frustration. She shook her head as if trying to ward off the memory. “His marriage is so unfortunate, it breaks my heart. He ended up with a girl who doesn’t lift a finger around the house. She spends all her time in bed, either sleeping, lounging, or reading books. Can you believe it—he even brings her breakfast in bed every single morning! I don’t know how he manages to tolerate it. It’s exhausting just thinking about him catering to her every whim.”
“That’s terrible,” said her friend, her eyebrows knitting together in sympathy. “And your daughter—how is she faring in her marriage?”
The first lady’s face lit up with joy and relief this time. “Ah, she’s so fortunate! She married a real angel. He insists that she doesn’t do a single thing around the house. Every morning, he brings her breakfast in bed, letting her sleep as long as she wants. The rest of the day, she can simply relax, read, or do whatever makes her happy. It’s everything a daughter could wish for in a husband—kind, attentive, and utterly devoted.”
The second woman nodded, her expression a mix of amusement and envy, realizing how wildly different the lives of the children had become despite growing up under the same roof. The contrast between the son’s and daughter’s marriages left them both reflecting on the strange ironies of life and love.
