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.
During my three years of high school, I almost never had dinner.
Skipping so many meals, along with the constant tension at the table, had already ruined my stomach.
Still, I kept showing up at dinner time every day, because if I hadn’t, I would’ve starved long ago.
Everyone at the table acted like I didn’t exist. I didn’t even dare lift my spoon and fork, scared that Mom would get angry again.
Just as Mom got up to pour herself some water, Dad quietly placed a few vegetables into my bowl.
When I looked up, he gave me a quick wink, as if telling me to eat more.
But before I could move, the bowl in front of me disappeared.
A moment later, the rice and vegetable leaves, mixed with oil, were dumped all over my head. A single green leaf hung from my forehead. Imagine how foolish I must have looked.
Mom’s screams and shouts exploded in my ears. "Kevin! Why did you give food to that bitch? Are you trying to kill me?"
"You’ve been fooled by her! Do you want me dead to make you happy?"
"If you don't want me to have a good life, then neither will you!"