The day my dad remarried, my stepmother, Sharon, gently welcomed me into her home. She’d simmered chicken soup for three hours just for me. But as I picked up a drumstick and took a few bites, she suddenly grabbed the scalding hot soup and poured it all over my head. “Look at your wonderful daughter, David! She was born to bring misfortune to our family, wasn’t she?” I shrieked, burned and bewildered, looking at Dad, hoping he’d speak up for me. Instead, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, slapped it on the table – a document severing our father-daughter relationship – and said coldly, “Get out. I don’t have a daughter like you.” 0 The scalding, greasy chicken soup streamed down my head. My whole body was soaked, and the smell of chicken soup instantly filled the air. I stood there stunned, helplessly looking at Dad. I wondered if I’d offended Sharon somehow and wanted to apologize. But Dad pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and slapped it on the table. It was a “Document of Severance of Father-Daughter Relationship.” “Get out. I don’t have a daughter like you.” He finished speaking and yanked my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Why, Dad? What did I do wrong?” Today was Dad’s remarriage, and it was my first time at Sharon’s house. She had been incredibly gentle with me, speaking softly, smiling as she welcomed me in, and personally cooked chicken soup for three hours. But as I picked up a drumstick and took a few bites, Sharon, who was still scooping soup for me, suddenly dropped the ladle, grabbed the bowl, and poured the soup over my head. “What did I do to make Sharon angry? Just tell me, I’ll apologize to her.” I shook my head repeatedly, desperately clinging to the doorframe, demanding answers. Dad pried my fingers off the frame one by one, replying, “You have the nerve to ask? I’m too ashamed to even answer you. Do you think what you did was something to be proud of? Mia, I can’t believe I raised a daughter like you!” He shoved me to the ground, followed by the deafening slam of the door. The sound rattled me, leaving my ears ringing for a long while. I stumbled to my feet, messy like a drowned rat, and left. Growing up, Dad always treated me like the apple of his eye. If I accidentally bumped a table corner, the next day, every corner would be padded with soft protectors. But why today… I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, so I called Grandma Martha and burst into tears. Thankfully, Martha was still on my side, promising to call Dad and give him a piece of her mind. I choked back tears, my shoulders trembling uncontrollably: “Grandma, I was so careful at Sharon’s house, I didn’t dare touch anything.” “I even helped her with chores, helping her chop vegetables while she was cooking.” “All I did was eat one chicken drumstick, and she poured the whole pot of soup on me.” “Was that chicken some kind of golden goose? That precious?” But when I mentioned the chicken drumstick, Martha’s tone instantly turned cold: “You ate the chicken drumstick?” I mumbled a “yes,” completely confused. “Yes, I did. Was it really a golden goose? I had no idea that chicken was so precious. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have touched it.” Martha cleared her throat on the other end of the line, saying sternly: “Tell me exactly what happened that day, don’t leave out a single detail.” A strange nervousness crept into me as I started recalling the scene of eating the drumstick, describing even the color and pattern of the soup bowl in detail. “And then I just ate a chicken drumstick, and before I even had a chance to drink the soup, all that happened.” Before I could finish, I only heard a busy tone. I thought Martha had hung up accidentally. I called back, only to hear: “The number you have dialed is busy. Please try again later…” I tried several times, but it was always the same. Grandma Martha had blocked me. 0
The next day, I used someone else’s phone to call Martha. “Grandma, why did you block me? Just because I ate a chicken drumstick?” I’d lived with Martha since I was little. Whatever I wanted, it would appear in her hands the next day. Her voice rose, sharp and piercing, as if it would shatter my eardrums: “I don’t have a granddaughter like you. Your dad should never have had you!” My legs instantly went weak, and I sank to the floor. What had I done wrong? Why were they treating me like this? Both Dad and Grandma Martha wanted to cut ties with me, all because I ate a few bites of chicken drumstick. My heart was a mess of emotions. Were they hiding something from me? Perhaps they were in some kind of trouble and were using this as an excuse to cut me off, so I wouldn’t get involved. I was completely baffled. I called every relative I could think of, asking about them. But their answers were identical: “No, everything’s fine. They’re all healthy, and their careers are going smoothly.” My head felt heavy, the world spinning around me. Could they really be cutting ties with me just because I ate a chicken drumstick? I spent the next night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. I decided to go back to my hometown to see Martha and get a clear explanation. But I was currently working on a major project and could only wait until my vacation. More than ten days passed. I was constantly traveling for work and didn’t have time to dwell on these things. I also tried to reassure myself that if they weren’t willing to let me eat a simple chicken drumstick, then maybe such a family wasn’t worth having. Through this, I realized my standing in their hearts was nothing special. From now on, I’d live my own life, relying on myself to create a good future. That was the only way. But ever since that incident, I hadn’t eaten a chicken drumstick again. I thought the whole thing was over, but at the project completion celebration, Mr. Hayes invited our team to a rustic restaurant known for its free-range chicken. I got incredibly stressed at the mention of anything chicken-related. I immediately called Mr. Hayes to try and decline, but he was surprisingly inflexible: “Mia, you were the main person in charge of this project. How can you not attend?” “If your teammates see you not coming, aren’t you disrespecting me, your manager?” “Your team also has interns. You need to lead by example, right?” “No more excuses. If you don’t show up, don’t bother coming in again.” Mr. Hayes was usually very approachable, but this time, for some reason, he absolutely insisted I go. This was the first major project I’d completed since leading the team, and I’d poured a lot of effort into it. To keep my job, I drove there. Everyone was toasting each other, the atmosphere was lively, and they kept raising their glasses to me. But when the steaming hot chicken soup was placed on the table, I couldn’t help but frown. Before, just for eating one chicken drumstick, my own father wanted to cut ties with me, and Grandma Martha, who loved me most, vowed to never contact me again. If I ate a chicken drumstick today, would I lose my job too? At that thought, I recoiled, pulling back my fork, and shivered. I stood up, intending to get some fresh air outside. But just as I was about to leave, Lisa, who usually couldn’t stand me, spoke up, her voice sharp, making everyone look my way: “Mia, Mr. Hayes specifically ordered this free-range chicken for you. Not even touching your fork is a huge slap in his face, isn’t it?” We’d worked together for two years, and she’d filed reports against me at least a dozen times, always trying to trip me up and make my life miserable. I steadied myself and spoke calmly: “I’ve been feeling under the weather lately, so I can’t have chicken soup or chicken meat.” “Everyone, enjoy your food and have a great time.” With that, I practically fled towards the door. 0
Just as I was about to reach the exit, Lisa rushed over and blocked me. The cheap perfume filling my nostrils made me sneeze. “Oh, this is an old hen, not a young rooster. It’s actually good for you, so don’t worry, just eat it.” All my colleagues looked at me. Other team members also chimed in: “Mia, you’re the MVP of this project. You pulled so many all-nighters, you really need to replenish your strength.” “Lisa’s just looking out for you. Just have a bite, please.” Mr. Hayes, who had been silent for a long time, also spoke up, persuading me: “This is their own farm-raised chicken, not like the factory-farmed ones. Just try a piece.” Cold sweat beaded on my forehead as I forced an awkward smile. Lisa being this nice to me? I wondered what her game was. But now I was essentially on the hot seat. If I still refused, they’d accuse me of disrespecting Mr. Hayes and being arrogant about my achievements. If I wanted a promotion or raise later, someone would surely bring this up. After two or three seconds of hesitation, I had no choice but to return to the table and sit down. I picked up my fork and took a chicken drumstick. I put the drumstick in my mouth. It was incredibly tender. Seeing that no one reacted, I continued eating on my own. Until I had eaten it down to the bone. Time seemed to stop. Everyone fell silent, as if by unspoken agreement. The private room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. The smiles on everyone’s faces instantly froze. The malice in their eyes shot at me like sharp daggers. “Mia, you’re absolutely shameless!” My best friend at work was the first to react, clenching her fist and slamming it on the table, her eyes practically spitting fire: “I must have been blind to ever be your friend.” “You’re utterly disgusting!” “Mr. Hayes, fire her immediately. People like her don’t belong in our company.” My heart tightened, and my legs started to tremble uncontrollably: “The restaurant owner brought the chicken soup, and Lisa told me to eat it!” “What did I do wrong?” But my colleagues just stared at me coldly, ignoring my breakdown. I looked pleadingly at Sarah, my mentor, who brought me into this industry. When I first started, Sarah taught me everything, meticulously, detail by detail. She saw my potential, my champion. I hoped she would speak up for me. But to my surprise, Sarah seemed like a different person today. Her eyes held an expression I couldn’t understand, distant, like she was looking at a complete stranger. “Mia, if I’d known you were this kind of person, I would’ve fired you during the interview.” Mr. Hayes picked up the chicken soup bowl and smashed it violently on the floor, roaring: “Mia, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Our company doesn’t need someone with your unethical conduct.” It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on me. I stood there, stunned. My colleagues shot me disgusted looks and dispersed. As they passed me, some even spat at me. “Ugh, she’s absolutely shameless. She’s a waste of space, a waste of oxygen.” I had worked here since graduating, diligently and meticulously, never made a single mistake. Was eating one chicken drumstick going to end my career of so many years? The private room was a mess. Overturned wine bottles dripped onto the floor, and I felt my strength draining away, slumping to the ground. The company SnapChat group erupted in condemnation against me. But I scrolled through thousands of messages and couldn’t find a single reason why they were treating me like this. When I returned to the office, my desk supplies had already been dumped next to the trash can, smelling of garbage. I was thrown out of the company like trash. A dozen colleagues stood by the entrance, staring at me like I was a pathetic stray. Like a puppet, I picked up my belongings, walking back to my rental apartment like I’d lost my soul. I lost all strength and fainted on the floor. 0
I was woken in the middle of the night by the cold draft coming through the window, which cleared my head considerably. I contacted the restaurant owner and requested the surveillance footage from that night, hoping to figure out what happened. Was I just too stressed from work, or had I developed dissociative identity disorder, doing something outrageous? Is that why everyone turned on me the moment I ate a chicken drumstick? I watched the footage from sunrise to sunset, my eyes bloodshot, but I found no signs of dissociative identity disorder. After much deliberation, I booked an appointment with a renowned psychiatrist. After I explained the whole situation, the doctor patted my shoulder and comforted me: “It’s normal for people today to experience high stress, sometimes leading to dissociative identity disorder or memory loss.” I clutched at that lifeline, pulling out my phone to show him the surveillance video from that night. But before I could even take my phone back, the doctor shoved it into my hand and pushed me out the door: “You’re beyond help. Please find another doctor.” “Or perhaps it’s best not to treat you at all. Even if cured, it won’t erase the evil within you.” I stood outside the door, helplessly wringing my hands, tears streaming down my face like a broken string of pearls. I stumbled back to my apartment complex in a daze, only to bump into my landlord. She angrily declared: “Get out within an hour! You disgusting creature, renting my apartment! Who knows if anyone will rent it after you’re done with it.” “If I’d known what kind of person you were, I never would have rented to you.” My entire body went limp, and I knelt at my landlord’s feet, begging for an explanation like a beggar. But she just kicked me away, refusing to even look at me, and walked off without a backward glance. Dragging my luggage, bag after bag, I had nowhere to go. So I called Eleanor, my mom. When I finally threw myself into Eleanor’s arms, all the hurt and frustration of the past few days spilled out. I hugged her and cried for over ten minutes. Eleanor didn’t say a word, didn’t ask anything. She just held me, gently stroking my hair. Ethan, my brother, also took time off work to come home, saying he missed me. The days with Eleanor were peaceful and wonderful, gradually allowing me to lower my guard and forget what had happened. Six months passed peacefully. Eventually, I needed to get back to life, so I interviewed for a company online, ready to resume working. Seeing me getting better, Eleanor smiled with relief and started bustling around, insisting I eat a full meal before leaving. Eleanor cooked many dishes, all my favorites. Just as I put down my fork and was about to go pack more things. Eleanor brought out a bowl of chicken soup! I looked at the greasy chicken soup and suddenly felt nauseous, the room spinning around me. “Mia, Mom made this chicken soup for you herself. Simmered slowly, so nourishing and delicious.” “You really should eat a big bowl. You won’t find anything like this anywhere else.” My head throbbed. All those painful memories flooded my mind at once. I was trying to think of an excuse to escape, but then I noticed Eleanor’s hands, red and blistered from burns. Eleanor noticed my gaze and tugged at her sleeve, trying to hide them: “It’s nothing, just accidentally burned myself with the pot while making soup. I’ve already put ointment on it.” My throat tightened, and I couldn’t bring myself to refuse her: “Thank you, Mom. I’m definitely going to eat a big chicken drumstick.” Eleanor looked at me gently, “Eat up, eat up. It’s all yours.” With that, Eleanor started to clear away the other dishes, letting me eat slowly. Seeing nothing amiss, I lowered my guard. After all, I’d always loved Eleanor’s chicken soup the most. I picked up the bowl and took a sip of soup. A warm feeling spread through me instantly, leaving a sweet and savory aftertaste. Eleanor freed one hand to wipe a spot of grease from the corner of my mouth. But as I picked up the chicken drumstick and took a few bites, Eleanor slammed the cleared dishes onto the floor, shattering porcelain pieces across the floor. Before I could react, Eleanor’s slap already stung my cheek. “Mia, how could I have raised such a monster? I’m going to beat you to death!” With that, she grabbed a broom and swung it at me. Just as I raised my hand to block it, Ethan stepped in front of me. “Mom, what did Mia do wrong? How can you hit her?” Eleanor’s chest heaved violently, and the veins on her forehead bulged. She yanked Ethan aside and whispered something in his ear: “I served Mia chicken soup, and she actually…”
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