Instead of scolding him, Dad cuddled him tighter.
“Eat more, son. Grow up strong and become someone important one day!”
With that, he put Jacob down and left cheerfully.
Mom didn’t find any more money, and she looked dissatisfied.
I stayed silent, curled in a corner, my head and hands still bleeding.
Two rats darted out of the kitchen trash can.
They snatched up the crushed chocolate crumbs, squeaking.
Jacob shrieked and threw himself into Mom’s arms.
“Mom! There are rats!”
Mom grabbed a slipper and hurled it at me.
“This is your fault, you worthless brat! You brought the rats in!”
Then she hugged Jacob tightly, speaking in soft, soothing tones:
“Don’t be afraid, Jacob. Smart little boys know rats only go after filthy things and low-lives. We’ll never be like her.”
I watched them cautiously.
From as early as I could remember, I had longed for affection like that.
But she had never once treated me that way.
I didn’t even know why she hated me so deeply.
“Are you deaf? Can’t you see your brother is scared?”
“Hurry up and kill those rats!”
“If you can’t get rid of them, you don’t get to eat tonight!”
But my house had always been like it was built on top of a rat’s nest—there was no way to kill them all.