The Gift That Wasn't

After my year-end bonus came in, I immediately transferred 10,000 dollars to my husband to buy New Year’s gifts for both our parents. I even told him to get the very best, especially that case of whisky for my father.

On New Year’s Eve, I rushed home to have dinner with my parents. However, at the table that night, Dad, who had always loved his drinks, was sipping tea instead.

I was confused. “Dad, it’s the holidays. Why didn't you bring out the liquor?”

I smiled as I rose to my feet to grab the case. “Kevin went out of his way to get this. I heard it tastes amazing.”

“Don’t touch it!” Dad slammed his teacup against the floor. His face was flushed dark red.

“Zeena, don’t send this stuff anymore. I know it’s not easy for you to make money in the city. But even if our Collins family is poor, we still have our pride! People in the village are talking behind my back, saying I’m putting on airs!”

I was completely stunned. I opened the bottle and took a sip, then froze for a moment. This was not whisky at all. It was just plain water.

The dinner table fell into a dead silence.

“Sweetheart, come with me.”

Mom led me to the backyard and pushed open the storage room door. In the corner were more than a dozen neatly stacked cases of the exact same whisky. Some were damp and moldy, others were covered in cobwebs.

These were all the New Year’s gifts I had my husband, Kevin Zane, buy over the past three years.

“W-What is this?” My voice came out dry. My throat was tight.

Mom heaved a sigh. “The first year you sent them, your dad was thrilled. He even invited your uncles over to drink. But the moment the liquor was poured, everyone’s expressions changed.

“Your dad didn’t believe it. He insisted it was just his taste being off and opened another bottle, but it was the same result.”

As she spoke, tears started falling again. “After that, you kept sending liquor every holiday. Your dad was afraid you’d be hurt and was worried about your pride, so he never told you. He just hid all the bottles here and told everyone he couldn’t bear to drink them.

“People in the village have been talking behind our backs, saying now that you’ve made it in the big city, you’ve learned to buy fakes to fool even your own parents!”

My hands trembled. The bottle dug painfully into my palm.

However, Kevin had clearly told me that he got these bottles of liquor as a special supply directly from the original factory through his connections. How could they be fake? If the liquor was fake…

What about the 10,000 dollars I gave him every year? What was it actually spent on?

I took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to smash everything. I pulled out my phone and called Kevin.

“The