Chapter 2

Hearing that demonic threat, I clenched my teeth and choked it down. My face flushed crimson, and hot tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks.

When I opened my eyes again, the sterile white ceiling tiles and the sharp scent of antiseptic greeted me.

I realized I was in a hospital bed.

"Look who's awake. Useless piece of trash. Having to get your stomach pumped over a few bites of meat."

Mom’s razor-sharp voice echoed by my side.

I didn't answer. I just stared blankly at the ceiling.

In the next bed, patients were whispering among themselves.

"What a monster... Heard the doctors pumped out nearly ten pounds of pure grease from that poor kid's stomach."

I pulled the coarse blanket over my head and wept in silence.

Taking advantage of a moment when Mom stepped away, a young nurse walked up with deep concern in her eyes. "Honey... is she your real mother? Do you want me to call the police?"

I nodded. Then I panicked and shook my head. Then I nodded again.

A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my chest.

My teachers always told us to call the cops when we were in danger. Maybe an officer could make my mom act normal again.

Before long, two police officers arrived at the room.

They carefully examined the bruises covering my body and reviewed the medical chart.

Frowning deeply, they escorted Mom out into the hallway.

Through the glass window, Mom kept her head bowed low, looking like a chastised, obedient schoolgirl.

Naively, I believed that when she walked back in, everything would be fixed.

The nurse warmed up a cup of milk for me, and exhausted, I drifted off to sleep.

In my dream, Mom was gentle again, brushing my hair and calling me her sweet angel, setting a warm bowl of sweet oatmeal right in front of me.

When I woke up, Mom was sitting at the edge of the mattress, tenderly holding my hand. "Are you feeling better, sweetie?"

Joy flooded my heart. She really was back to normal!

Seeing the color return to my cheeks, the officers smiled and left.

Reality, however, hit me like a sledgehammer.

The day I was discharged, Mom didn't take me home. She brought me straight to Grandma’s house.

The entire family was sitting in a tight row on the leather sofa, glaring down at me like a tribunal.

My aunt’s daughter, Jenny, wore pigtails and a frilly pink dress, sucking on a lollipop while curled safely in her mother's lap.

I looked down at myself: an oversized, worn-out gym track suit and a buzzcut so uneven I looked completely genderless.

Mom always said girls who grew their hair long or wore skirts were just desperate to please men.

Yet every time she visited Grandma’s, she brought Jenny fancy hair ribbons and designer dresses.

I stood in the center of the living room, hands clutched tightly at the hem of my shirt, like a criminal awaiting a death sentence.

Once upon a time, it was my dad who had been forced to stand in that exact spot.

Mom broke the silence, her voice dripping with venom.

"I gave her a little extra meat to eat, and what does the ungrateful brat do? She calls the cops on me!"

"Can't wash the blood out of a mutt," Grandma sneered. "She's just like her worthless father. A stray dog that bites the hand feeding it."

Grandma’s side of the family despised my dad. Their divorce had been the talk of the small town, turning the family into a laughingstock.

"Jenny would never do something like that," my aunt chimed in, tossing her hair. "They're the same age, but Jenny brings home straight A's, while Nora over here is practically failing every class."

Hearing this, Jenny tilted her chin up like a proud little peacock.

"You've been way too soft on her, Sarah," my aunt continued. "Kids need discipline. At the family dinner, out of all the kids, only Nora made a fuss picking the fat off her plate. You spoiled her rotten."

They took turns firing verbal bullets at me, ripping apart whatever little dignity I had left.

Mom’s expression grew darker by the second.

I didn't understand. I had tried so hard to be good.

I just couldn't stomach pork fat. Was disliking fat really a crime worthy of damnation?

"Look at that! Crybaby's already tearing up after two words! Pathetic, just like her dad!"

My mental walls crumbled completely. I had no idea how to stop this nightmare.

Trembling, I fell to my knees on the cold hardwood floor, tears splashing onto the ground. "Mom, I was wrong! Please, forgive me! Please!"

Mom stared into my soul, her voice chillingly quiet.

"Do you like pork fat?"