Porridge Just Right

Jacqueline knows she has to get it just right. Just right—or she’ll never hear the end of it.

She ladles a few scoops of the porridge, just heated up over the stove, into a bowl. A little soy sauce, a dash of pepper. Some freshly sliced ginger. A sprinkling of spring onion.

She hesitates, then adds a pinch of fried shallots over the top.

She carefully places the bowl on the table, then takes a deep breath.

Here we go.

Upstairs, she stops in front of the first door and gently knocks on it. “Breakfast,” she says.

She enters the room and draws the curtains apart, letting the just-past-sunrise light in. The old woman in the bed stirs.

Even though her knees aren’t what they used to be, Jacqueline lifts the woman from the bed, lowers her into a wheelchair, then gets her dressed and washed—an awkward silent dance they’d done many times before.

Finally, they’re downstairs. The old woman takes a mouthful of the porridge. “It’s too salty,” she spits. “Can’t you get it right once?”

Jacqueline sighs. She pushes a small bowl and a cup of water towards the woman. “Don’t forget your pills.”

The woman purses her lips.

Jacqueline is transported back to when she was 25, excitedly showing off the ring her fiancé Paul had chosen to his parents.

“Congratulations! You’ve finally done it, my boy,” Roger thumped Paul on the back and heartily shook his hand.

But Nina had said nothing, her lips a thin line.

All throughout dinner that day, Jacqueline’s throat had felt tight. Nina had been giving her the side-eye.

Until dessert. Nina had set her custard spoon down and quietly muttered, “She’s not right for you.”

Everyone froze.

“What did you say?” Paul stared.

“She’s not good enough for you. She doesn’t belong in this family.” Nina’s eyes were daggers. “I can’t let you do this. I won’t.”

Jacqueline remembered how, even with her heart beating in her ears, she’d heard every single word Nina had said—and they had cut her deep.

“If you marry her,” Nina breathed, “you’ll be sorry you did. Trust me.”

Jacqueline turned to look at Paul. But he gripped her hand so tightly, his fingernails left half-moons in her palms.

“What are you waiting for?” the old woman says. “I’m done already.”

Jacqueline notices a bit of porridge on the woman’s chin. She reaches over, and calmly wipes it away. “Alright.”

**

Today, they’re only doing a sponge bath.

As Jacqueline squeezes the cloth into the basin, she hums.

“Will you be quiet?” the old woman grumbles. Jacqueline ignores her, rubbing the cloth up and down, all along the length of the woman’s arms.

But as she moves further down, the cloth slips out of her hands and falls into the basin, splashing water everywhere.

“Gah! You’re useless!” the woman cries, flinging her arms.

Jacqueline’s head jerks backwards. “I’m sorry.”

Nina had said the same to her, all those years ago.

Ten years after being married, they hadn’t conceived. There had been… complications. And Nina had made sure Jacqueline believed they were her fault.

You’re useless!
If you marry her, you’ll be sorry.

Nina’s words had haunted her every single day. Through all the drugs, supplements, Chinese medicine, alternative treatments, IVF.

She knew she’d broken Paul’s heart. But he’d smiled and held her anyway. “We’ll get through this.”

And even after they’d finally managed to adopt their daughter, Edith, Nina was not satisfied. Nina had never referred to Edith as her grandchild.

So when Edith decided to build her life overseas, a small part of Jacqueline felt relieved. Relieved that her daughter would be spared the hurt from a grandmother who had never loved nor accepted her.

Jacqueline finishes the woman’s bath and wraps her up in a large towel. “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

The old woman grunts.

**

Dinner is always in front of the TV. That’s just how it is.

Jacqueline bends to set the tray in front of the old woman, her back aching. It’s been a long day. She has to handle everything else in the house, too. And she’s tired.

“Eat up before it’s cold,” the utensils clatter as she places them beside the plate.

“Mm,” the woman mumbles.

Jacqueline sits on the opposite end of the couch, then reaches for the remote.

“Don’t touch that!” the woman hisses. “We’re watching my show.”

Jacqueline sucks in her breath. Of course.

She begins her dinner, chewing slowly while staring aimlessly at the screen. She pushes her broccoli around on her plate.

How she missed Paul.

She missed his snorting laugh. She missed the loose coins he’d leave everywhere. She even missed picking up his stupid socks off the floor, then nagging him about it.

Even in the months before he passed, when he got worse, she’d already begun to miss those things. Paul wasn’t himself anymore by then. He could barely get out of bed. He’d stopped laughing.

Most days, he could only manage a weak smile. But she kept going.

And even though she was doing her very best during the worst time of her life, it was never enough for Nina.

They argued over what he’d eat. They argued over his medications. Then they argued over where he’d spend his final days.

“He’ll stay here, at home, where he belongs,” Jacqueline cried.

“He’s coming home with me. We’ll take better care of him. It’s your fault he’s like this!” Nina clenched her hands together.

Although Jacqueline ended up taking care of Paul until his last breath, Nina had her questioning everything.

Was all this really her fault? Had she let Paul down? Did he have… regrets?

“He never should’ve married you,” Nina had snarled at his funeral.

Jacqueline had gone home that day and wept.

“What a bitch!” the old woman yells at the TV. “I knew you were cheating on him!”

Jacqueline sighs. She collects her half-eaten plate and the woman’s tray and disappears into the kitchen.

**

Jacqueline continues stirring, the contents of the mug swirling together like a tiny whirlpool.

It’s done, she thinks.

She carries the mug upstairs.

It’s dim in the room. The old woman is sitting up in bed. Jacqueline places the mug on the dresser, takes a small comb out of the drawer, then settles herself on the edge of the bed.

She removes the woman’s hair tie, letting her long silver hair fall. In silence, Jacqueline brushes her hair, and the woman lets her.

Jacqueline feels a sudden knot in her stomach. “Is there… something you want to say to me?”

She can’t see the woman’s face, but she feels her shoulders stiffen.

“I-I…” the woman whispers. She clears her throat, crosses her arms. “No.”

Jacqueline pauses brushing for but a second. “Okay.”

She thought it was ironic how they ended up, Nina and she. A few years after Paul had passed, Roger followed—cancer, too. And with Edith overseas, both she and Nina were alone.

But when Nina’s health began to deteriorate, Jacqueline had a choice to make.

She could’ve walked away. She didn’t.

Somehow, despite everything, all she ever wanted, craved, was Nina’s approval.

She swiftly gathers the woman’s hair in a neat ponytail, sweeps it over her right shoulder.

Then she hands the cup to the woman. “Your medicine,” she says, her hand trembling slightly.

The old woman nods, gulps the drink down, and makes a face.

At the door, Jacqueline takes one final look at the woman before she turns off the light. “Good night, Nina. Sleep well.”

As she turns to her room, Jacqueline sighs.

Sleep well.

-THE END-

(C) Copyright Lisa Kwan 2026

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Part of my creative writing project. The story is based on the image above, which was generated randomly.