Just because I ate a couple extra bites of the cake Mrs. Wilson made, my mom suddenly lost it and ruined my birthday party. “You’re truly your father’s daughter, with the same taste,” she spat. “Since you like her so much, why don’t you let her be your mother from now on?” “I don’t want you anymore.” Confused and scared, I cried and begged for her forgiveness. But she accidentally pushed me, causing me to hit my head on the table corner. Blood gushed out. In my dazed state, I heard my mother’s inner thoughts: [Let the chase begin. He’ll regret this.] [Those who betray true love deserve to suffer.] [That ungrateful father-daughter duo must be regretting it now.] She sounded smug and vindictive, without a trace of concern or love for me. But mom, if you truly love someone, how could you bear to see them hurt? “You like eating it so much? Then eat all you want!” When my mom suddenly grabbed an entire cake and threw it at my face, the noisy living room fell silent. Only her sharp voice lingered in the air. She wiped the cake off her fingers with a napkin, then shot Mrs. Wilson a look of disgust. “Aria Anderson, you really are your father’s daughter. The two of you have such similar tastes.” “Since you like her so much, why don’t you let her be your mother?” I looked at my mom, then at Mrs. Wilson’s weathered face. At an age when I hadn’t yet learned the word “absurd,” I suddenly grasped its meaning. It was all my fault and dad’s for always making mom misunderstand. That’s why she was so angry. “I’m sorry, mom. I was wrong.” I lowered my head in shame, hiding my reddening eyes. The cream felt sticky and uncomfortable on my skin. I didn’t dare to take a shower or change clothes, afraid that if I looked away for a moment, mom would really leave. But my apology didn’t soften mom’s expression. She coldly examined me, as if trying to find something on my face. “Then tell me, what exactly did you do wrong?” I nervously clutched the hem of my shirt, trying hard to recall what I had done to make mom angry. But I couldn’t think of anything. Singing the birthday song, blowing out candles, cutting the cake, eating the cake – these were all normal parts of celebrating a birthday. I hadn’t misbehaved or done anything out of line. I anxiously dug my nails into my palms, tears welling up in my eyes. Seeing me stammer without being able to say anything, mom’s face grew increasingly dark. Finally, her patience ran out. She violently flipped over the cake on the table. The gifts beside it crashed to the floor with a clatter. “You even like Mrs. Wilson’s cooking. Your dad must really be starving.” “When I cook, you two are so picky.” “But you can’t get enough of her cake, stuffing your face with it.” “Fine, Aria. Have it your way. I don’t want you anymore.” “From now on, you don’t have a mother.” Mrs. Wilson turned pale with fright, unable to understand how she, a 40-something housekeeper who diligently cooked and cleaned every day, had suddenly become the other woman in her employer’s marriage. I trembled in fear too, forgetting the cream still on me as I threw myself at mom’s legs and held on tight. “Mom, I was wrong. I’ll never eat cake again.” “Please don’t leave me.” My sobbing irritated mom, and the sweet cream made her even more unbearable. “My new dress!” She shoved me away forcefully, staring at the white cream stains on her dress as her chest heaved. “Go to Mrs. Wilson. I don’t want to be your mother anymore.” Mom pushed too hard. With cream all over the floor, I lost my balance and fell, hitting my forehead on the table corner. In an instant, liquid gushed from my head. Before losing consciousness, all I saw was red. I couldn’t tell if it was blood or mom’s red dress. “Mom, don’t go.” Don’t leave me.
When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. “Mom!” I frantically searched for mom’s figure, finally spotting her playing on her phone in the corner of the room. Mom was still here. My anxious heart finally calmed down. I stared at her without blinking, afraid she would suddenly disappear. The next moment, dad’s call came through. Mom clicked her tongue and irritably rejected the call. Soon dad called again. Mom rejected it again. This went on until the tenth call when mom finally answered impatiently. “Aaron Anderson, stop calling me. I told you, I won’t forgive you. This time, I’m definitely getting a divorce.” “Go live with all your mistresses.” “From now on, no one will cook for you or stay up late waiting for you to come home from work.” “Losing me is your loss.” The other end went eerily silent for a few seconds. Mom didn’t speak either. But I clearly heard her voice, as if coming from her heart. [Let the chase begin.] [Those who betray true love deserve to suffer.] [That ungrateful father-daughter duo must be regretting it now.] Her tone was triumphant and smug, without any concern or love for me. But mom, if you truly love someone, how could you bear to see them hurt? What chase? What betrayal? Was she talking about me and dad being ungrateful? I looked at mom in confusion, suddenly feeling a bit sad. I’m not ungrateful. I love mom very much. A feeling of inescapable exhaustion enveloped me. I couldn’t understand why things had turned out this way. Just because I was greedy and ate a few extra bites of Mrs. Wilson’s cake? Tears fell one by one onto the blanket, leaving damp spots. “Wendy, can’t we talk things through? Don’t take it out on Aria. She’s just a child,” dad’s voice sounded tired. “Besides, you have some nerve to talk. How can anyone eat the food you cook? You almost killed me!” Before he could finish, mom cut him off with a cold laugh. “A child? She knows plenty. She probably already knew Mrs. Wilson would become her stepmother, that’s why she’s sucking up to her.” “Too bad no stepmother will ever be good to her stepdaughter. I’m waiting to see you regret this.” The last sentence was directed at me. Mom turned to look at me. Her eyes held pure malice, as if she couldn’t wait to see me mistreated by Mrs. Wilson. “You’re being completely unreasonable,” dad’s voice turned cold too. He hung up with a click. [You’ll be begging me to come back one day.] Mom was angered by the “unreasonable” comment and started imagining scenes of dad pleading for her to return. It took her a while to calm down. She picked up her bag and left gracefully. “I’m not your mother anymore, so don’t expect me to take care of you.” “Just stay here and see if your precious Mrs. Wilson comes.” This time, I didn’t try to stop her. I hugged my knees tightly, struggling not to cry out loud. Mom, you said those who betray true love deserve to suffer. But if you truly love someone, how could you bear to see them hurt?
Mrs. Wilson didn’t come to the hospital to take care of me. She had resigned. Hardworking housekeepers with cooking skills are in demand everywhere. There was no need to stay with our family and risk her reputation. That day, I sat alone in the hospital from dawn to dusk without eating or drinking anything. My head remained dizzy and weak. In the end, a kind nurse couldn’t bear to see me like that. She brought me a meal from the hospital cafeteria and called my dad. After learning that mom had abandoned me at the hospital, dad rushed back from out of town overnight. When I saw him, the first thing I said was: “If mom never sees me again, will she regret it?” Sitting in the hospital room all day, looking at the tall buildings outside, a thought suddenly occurred to me. If I jumped from here, mom would lose me forever. When she sees my body, will she regret it? Will she cry and beg me not to leave her, just like I begged her on my birthday? “No,” dad replied firmly without hesitation. “Aria, people who truly love you won’t bear to see you hurt.” “Those who don’t love you won’t care if you’re in pain.” “Hurting yourself to make others feel regret or guilt is just a stupid form of emotional blackmail.” “You can’t gain real respect and love through such means. If you don’t believe me, we can make a bet.” Dad and mom soon got their divorce papers. Mom took the money and house, but not me. The house mom got was right next door to ours. When I missed her, I would wait by the door. If I was lucky, I might see her coming home or going out. But she never spoke to me or responded to any of my friendly gestures. Until one day, mom brought home a little boy. I heard mom call him Noah, Noah Summers. That was the first thing mom had said to me since the divorce. “Aria Anderson, this is my son Noah Summers.” “You’d better not bully him, or else…” She gave me a meaningful look, as if certain I would harm this little boy. A few days later, a handsome man moved in with mom. Mom liked to kiss him at the front door. A few times when dad came home early from work and ran into them, he frowned and wanted to talk to mom. “If you want to kiss, do it in your own home. Don’t always do it in the stairwell. It’s not good for the kids to see.” Mom was convinced he was jealous, and smirked smugly. “Where we kiss is our freedom. It’s none of your business.” “Or are you jealous that you can’t kiss me anymore?” Then she became even more excessive. She also liked to put on a show of mother-son affection with Noah at the door. “Sweetie, come here and let mommy tie your tie for you.” “Mommy baked this bread for you. Remember to eat it at school.” I stood at the door, looking at mom longingly, but didn’t get even a glance from her. After mom went back inside, I looked at the bread in Noah’s hand, hesitating. I wasn’t sure if I should stop him from eating it. To my surprise, Noah thought I wanted to steal his bread. He charged at me aggressively.
“You motherless bastard, get out of my way.” Noah was tall and sturdy, like a little bull. “Don’t even think about stealing my bread.” I could have dodged, but for some reason, I suddenly remembered the bet I made with dad and forcefully stopped myself from moving. A dull pain shot through my abdomen as Noah knocked me to the ground. My palms and knees were scraped and bleeding. “Mom,” I cried out, feeling wronged and bursting into tears. Seeing me cry so miserably, Noah finally got a bit scared and kept saying, “It’s not my fault. You fell on your own.” Perhaps the noise was too loud. Mom opened the door to check the situation. I sobbed and choked, using all my strength to cry, wanting to release all the grievances and insecurities I had bottled up. Tears streamed down my face. “Mom, Noah pushed me.” As I tattled on Noah, a flash of guilt crossed my mind. I’m a bad child. I’m sorry Noah, I just missed mom too much. But mom’s reaction left me stunned. She came over and stroked Noah’s head gently. “Did my baby get scared? Don’t worry, mommy’s here. I won’t let anyone bully you.” She had never spoken to me so tenderly. When her gaze turned to me, the concern in her eyes instantly turned to disgust. “Aria Anderson, I warned you not to bully Noah.” “No matter how much you act out, I won’t come back.” “I’ve told you already, I’m not your mother anymore. From now on, Noah is my only child.” Her tone was full of mockery, but her inner thoughts revealed excitement. [Regretting it now? Too late.] [I suffered so much for you two before. You deserve to taste some of that pain.] “Mom, aren’t you going to ask if I’m hurt?” Mom frowned, her expression a bit unnatural. “Why should I care if you’re hurt?” Oh, I see. Mom doesn’t love me, so she doesn’t care if I’m in pain. Dad won the bet. I wiped the tears from my face with my forearm and looked up at mom, speaking slowly and seriously. “Actually, I could have dodged Noah just now, but I didn’t.” “I did it on purpose because I wanted to see if you would feel guilty about me.” “What about you, mom? Was it on purpose too?” In that moment, I suddenly understood many things. Why I always felt guilty towards mom, why she suddenly wanted to leave us, why dad didn’t try to stop her. Mom angrily pulled Noah away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She clearly understood. My teacher once taught us a phrase – to be ashamed into anger.
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