“Stop making excuses! You’re my child, don’t I know all your little tricks?”
"Are you trying to make me miserable? You won’t be happy until you drive me to death, will you?"
“Get out of here! Get out of my house right now!”
Dad quickly stood up and helped my angry Mom back to her room. "Alright, alright, don’t be upset. The child doesn’t understand. Don’t mind her."
My face felt hot, as if the warmth from Mom's hand was still there.
The certificate of recognition that Mom had just stepped on now lay quietly on the floor.
I stared at it closely, tears running down my face. My heart felt like it was being tightly squeezed by a big hand, the pain so strong I could hardly breathe.
I lived like this for eighteen years, yet each time, I still felt sad.
When I was three, I had just started kindergarten. On my first day, Dad came to pick me up.
Just when I got home that day, my mother was in the kitchen, pressing a knife against her neck.
"Who gave you permission to pick her up?! She’s more important to you than me, isn’t she?"
"Then I should just die and give you and your daughter the space you want!"
That day, Mom scared everyone, even me, a three-year-old child at that time.
From that day on, every kid in kindergarten had someone waiting to pick them up. I was the only one who always went to and from school alone, no matter if it rained or shone.
Wiping my tears, I picked up the certificate of recognition and went back to my room.
At six in the evening, I walked into the dining room for our usual dinner. The moment they saw me, the cheerful mood at the table turned cold.
Mom shot me a cold look and my grandparents didn’t even glance my way. Dad gave me an apologetic look but quickly turned his eyes away.
I forced a small smile.
Dad, who was only a son-in-law, had married into Mom’s family and I understood how hard that was for him.
When I reached the table, just as I expected, there was no bowl or utensils for me. So I served myself and sat down alone, at the farthest spot from everyone.
For years, no one ever called me to dinner, afraid it would upset Mom. I could only go to the dining room alone at dinner time and eat under everyone’s cold eyes.
In high school, I often stayed late for extra classes and evening study sessions.
In our family, keeping leftovers wasn’t a habit; every bit of food that remained was thrown away. No one, not even Dad, ever saved anything for me.