Chapter 3

I was about to stand up to clear the dishes, but she stopped me.

"Sit down." She carried the bowls to the kitchen. "I’m staying here from now on to look after you."

I sat there, stunned.

"These past years haven't been easy for me. That bastard Richard just packed up and left, leaving the two of us."

"I raised you all by myself. You saw how much I suffered."

I sat at the dining table, silent.

"When you were in college and had to pay those fees, I scraped every penny together for you."

"Back then, I was washing dishes at a diner for eight dollars an hour. I didn't spend a single cent on myself. I gave it all to you."

In all these years, this was the first time I had ever heard her say this.

"Mom..."

She rinsed the bowls, put them on the rack, wiped her hands, and walked out.

"So, stop doing those stupid eating streams."

I froze. "Mom, this makes good money. I need to support you."

"Support me?" She glared at me. "Is money all you care about now? Do you even care about me as your mother?"

"That's not what I—"

"Then did you ever consider my dignity?" Her voice escalated.

"Do you know what the neighbors back home are saying?"

"They say you’re on the internet acting like a glutton, stuffing food down your throat like a pig. It's humiliating."

"If this gets to Richard's new wife, who knows how she’ll mock us."

I looked at her. "Dignity, dignity. That’s all you ever care about."

"Does dignity put food on the table? I have to make money while I still can. When my body gives out, I won't be able to make a dime!"

"What do you mean by that?" She glared at me.

I shut my mouth.

"What do you mean your body is giving out?" She walked over, standing right in front of me. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"No." I turned my face away. "I’m just saying, this job doesn't last forever. I have to make as much as I can now."

She didn't say anything. She sat back down on the couch.

"Fine. Do whatever you want," she said, her eyes dull. "But all the money you make has to go to me. I’ll keep it safe for you, so you don't blow it."

When I was little, my mom's eyes used to smile. Now, they never did.

After a long silence, she whispered, "If you hadn't been born a girl, your father would have never cheated with that woman."

"Mom, I was only seven when Dad cheated."

She went rigid.

"Do you know what the saddest day of my life was? It wasn't the day he left. It was the day he came back to visit me."

"He came back once a year to bring me snacks and buy me clothes."

"Whenever he came, you were happy. When he left, you cried. And after you cried, you would grab a switch and beat the pig."

My throat tightened.

"Sometimes, when you beat the pig, I would squat right next to you and listen."

"Every time the pig squealed, I would flinch."

"You screamed, 'Joy, why aren't you dead yet?' and I would wonder... should I be dead too?"

Her lips trembled, but no sound came out.

"Later, I realized you weren't screaming at the pig. You were screaming at me. You were screaming at him," I said. "But you couldn't keep him, so you kept me. You took all your anger out on me."

She fell completely silent.

That night, lying in bed, my phone buzzed.

I scrolled down and saw a direct message.

"Hey Joy, I'm a big fan of yours. Please take care of your health during your streams. Don't eat too much. It breaks my heart to watch sometimes."