“All this fuss just because you didn’t get chocolate? Pretending to be sick over leftovers—who do you think you’re fooling?”
Sweating and trembling, I begged:
“Mom, I’m not pretending. I really hurt. Please take me to the hospital. I don’t want to die…”
She looked down coldly.
“What do you think you are, some rich princess? Going to the hospital costs money!”
“When we were kids, we never went to the hospital!”
“If you’re really sick, you just tough it out. Kids who survive get stronger and won’t get sick again!”
But I couldn’t tough it out.
My hands and feet shook, my vision darkened.
Instead of helping, she ordered:
“Don’t lie there! Get up and mop the floor!”
“Move your body, get the blood flowing, and you’ll get better faster!”
She yanked my bony arm, dragging me to the bucket.
“Children need to learn hard work from a young age. Today you’ll clean the whole house as your reward!”
“You should be grateful for a lifetime that I’m teaching you these good habits! Everything I do is for your own good.”
She sank back into her self-righteous role of the perfect, caring mother.
I was in such pain that I could barely breathe, my arms and legs weak.
Finally, by accident, I knocked over the bucket of water.