Part 2Her Own Life

The plate was a sea of crimson red, dotted with a few pathetic-looking pieces of chicken. I instinctively recoiled.

Chili peppers. I knew them.

One of her friends, a woman named Sharon, had once dared me to eat one as a joke. The prank ended with me coughing and crying in the emergency room, my mother holding me and sobbing harder than I was.

But now, her voice was bright, almost manic.

“Before I had you, I lived on spicy food. It was my favorite,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a strange light. “You’re my daughter. I bet you’ll love it too.”

She picked up a slice of pepper with her chopsticks and held it to my lips. “Go on, try a bite. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything this good.”

I looked from the pepper to her smiling face, my own mouth trembling. After a long moment, I summoned my courage and took it.

A searing heat exploded in my mouth, rocketing down my throat. Tears and snot streamed down my face as I choked.

My mother burst out laughing.

The sound was loud and clear, a sharp counterpoint to my desperate, gasping cries of “Mommy.”

From that day on, the simple, mild dishes of my childhood were replaced by a parade of glossy, crimson meals. Each one felt less like dinner and more like a test.

She would present the fiery plates with a flourish, then sit back and watch, a look of intense fascination on her face, as I cried my way through every bite.

I forced it down. I shoveled the peppers into my mouth like a form of self-punishment, a single tear rolling down my cheek for every swallow. And through it all, I would force a smile and say, “It’s so yummy, Mommy.”

Because only then would she transform back into the mother I remembered.

Only then would she gently stroke my hair and murmur, “Good girl.”

Until one night, a pain like a hot knife twisting in my gut woke me up. I stumbled out of bed, doubled over, and knocked on her door.

It opened, and her footsteps stopped in front of me. I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but her voice was thick with annoyance.

“What is it? Did you eat something bad?”

The pain was so intense I could only curl into a ball on the floor, unable to speak.

After a few seconds, a hand landed on my back, patting gently. A wave of relief washed over me, and I started to lean into her, ready to be held and comforted. But then I heard her mutter under her breath.

“Such a pain. Another all-nighter.”

A pause.

“I can handle spice just fine. Why didn’t you get any of my genes?”

In that instant, I looked up. And in the dim light from her room, I saw it clearly: the deep, profound annoyance in her eyes.

The doctor called it acute gastritis and said I’d need an IV drip for a few days. My mother sat beside my hospital bed, silent, distractedly scrolling through her phone.

After a long time, she turned to me. The strange delight she took in watching me eat the peppers was gone. So was the irritation from earlier. All that was left was an emotion I’d never seen before, something that terrified me.

She took a deep breath, her voice clear and steady.

“Mia, you being in the hospital has created a huge problem for me.”

I stared at her, confused.

Her voice was flat. “Did you know I have an important lunch meeting tomorrow? It’s something I’ve been looking forward to for a very long time.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “And now, because of you, everything has to be canceled.”

My mouth opened, and a small voice came out. “I’m sorry, Mommy. It’s my fault.”

Her expression remained cold. She said my name in the same tone she used to tell me to eat my dinner or go to bed.

“Mia.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few days.”

Her gaze, which had been drifting around the room, finally settled on me, sharp and determined.

“After I married your father, I had no life of my own. There were endless chores. After you were born, it only got worse. I was so busy, so tired… I hated the person I saw in the mirror.”

“My life just… stopped. It was all about the two of you.”

As she spoke, her voice softened into something strangely gentle, almost wistful.

“From now on, I’m going to live my own life.”

I stared at her, the twisting pain in my stomach miraculously gone, replaced by a vast, hollow numbness that spread through my limbs like a fast-acting poison.

She didn’t seem to notice the terror crystallizing in my eyes. She just looked at me.

“Mia, you’re a big girl now. You’ll grow up, and you’ll understand. Right?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Maybe she didn’t need one.

She reached out and tucked the blanket around me, a gesture that was almost tender in its detachment. Then she picked up her purse from the bedside table and stood up.

“Press the call button for the nurse when the IV bag is almost empty. I’ll be back in the morning.”

The sharp click of her heels echoed in the hallway, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared completely.

In the sterile silence of the hospital room, only one sound remained: my own voice, hoarse and broken, repeating the word “Mommy” over and over again.

I didn’t understand what she’d said.

I didn’t know what “living her own life” meant.

But I felt it in my bones.

My mommy was leaving me.