My eyes shifted to Hayden, lying on the sofa with his phone in his hand. I spoke softly, trying to stay calm. “Hayden, Mom wants that cake on the table.”
Without lifting his head, he said impatiently, “That’s mine. If you want one, use your wheelchair and go buy it yourself.”
My daughter looked at him and said gently to me, “Mom, please eat first. After dinner, I’ll go buy you some cake, okay?”
I turned my head away and said nothing, refusing to touch the food she made.
Seeing this, the live-stream chat went wild.
[Is this old woman out of her mind? She refused her daughter’s cooking but asked for her son’s cake?]
[I thought she was just biased, but this is pathetic. Her son treats her horribly, and she’s still clinging to him?]
[That poor daughter, she worked so hard to cook all that food, yet her mom won’t even taste it.]
[This is disgusting. The more I watch, the more I think this mother is awful.]
When the first day of the live stream ended, the comments were filled with insults aimed at me.
The next day, my daughter came home from work earlier than usual. In her hands was a small paper box. Inside was a slice of strawberry cream cake.
“Mom, you said you wanted cake yesterday. I bought one after work, your favorite strawberry flavor. Please have some.”
She held the cake out to me, her eyes filled with fragile hope. I looked at it and said flatly, “I don’t want it now.”
A hint of sadness crossed her face as disappointment sank in, but she forced a small smile and asked, “Then what would you like to eat? I’ll make it for you.”
I gave her a cold look and replied, “I don’t want to eat anything you make.”
I turned my wheelchair and moved toward the balcony for some air. Just as I was leaving the room, I ran into Hayden, who was playing on his phone. The bump made his phone fall to the floor, and he immediately exploded in anger.
“Damn it! I was in the middle of an important match! Because of you, I lost! That was my promotion round!”
He grabbed his phone and kicked my wheelchair hard, making it jolt violently and tilt to one side.
“Mom!”
My daughter shouted as she rushed over, throwing herself in front of me to stop the chair from falling. Her hand scraped against the metal frame, tearing open a deep cut, blood running down her arm.
She didn’t even flinch from the pain. After getting me upright again, her face went pale from fright as she yelled at Hayden.