Chapter 3

When my mother-in-law realized that I didn't care anymore, she began to cook even more extravagant meals for my daughter.

My husband praised my mother-in-law's cooking. "Mom makes excellent food. Jasmine always makes bland meals because she can't cook properly."

Wanting to eat less, I was subtly encouraged by my husband to eat more grilled pork. "You saw your check-up results. You're very healthy. Eating a bit more won't hurt. Besides, in modern society, if your cholesterol level is normal, it's a sign of poverty. People who are well-off usually have some issues with cholesterol and blood pressure."

Since my daughter became obese, I had started researching weight loss and nutritious meals. My husband and mother-in-law's high blood pressure gradually improved after years of eating my nutritious meals. However, my husband dismissed all my efforts with a single comment: "You can't cook properly."

I set down my plate full of pork. Ignoring my mother-in-law's disapproving gaze, I calmly said, "I can't eat this anymore. You guys enjoy yourselves."

Three months later, my daughter suddenly fainted, and we took her to the hospital.

The doctor said she was insulin resistant.

After a saline drip, she returned home.

"It's not that serious. You're always overreacting, as if a bit more food would endanger my life. You said I would get heart diseases, diabetes, vascular hardening… but the doctor let me leave after I received the saline and lied down for a bit. If the problem was serious, would he let me discharge?"

My daughter sent me a text. I sighed deeply and didn't reply.

In the Facetime call, my daughter from ten years later pleaded with me, "Mom, this fainting incident is a crucial indicator of my impending diabetes. This is my last opportunity for recovery."

She struggled to show me her lower body. Her legs were gone. "I had to amputate my legs. Due to vascular hardening and lack of exercise, my lower limbs have necrosed from poor blood flow. The only way to survive was to amputate my legs."

I was horrified.

After much hesitation, I finally expressed my suggestion. "Perhaps the only way you can change your past self is to contact her directly. I'm not you, so what I can do is limited."

In the Facetime call, my daughter from ten years later hung her head.

She sighed deeply and resigned herself. She Facetimed her past self.

Before she could say a word, her younger version exclaimed, "You ugly freak, stop calling me! You keep whining about how I'll have to amputate my legs if I keep eating, but there are countless future timelines. You went down this path because of the choices you made! I'm not sloppy and unmotivated with no self-control like you. I can lose weight whenever I want, I just haven't started yet."

She hung up.

My daughter from ten years later looked sad and helpless. "Mom, you're my last hope. Please, save me."

I felt a lump in my throat. I couldn't abandon my daughter. I decided to try one last time.

I spent $30,000 to send my present-day daughter to a weight loss camp.

The day I took her there, she sat in the backseat of the car, arms crossed, silent the entire way.

At the camp entrance, she slammed the car door shut and walked inside without looking back.

I called out, "Eat well."

She paused for a moment, then waved her hand in dismissal, as if brushing off a bothersome stranger.