My Mom Lives on Lies, I Live on Revenge

My blood ran cold at Mom's words.

Test? What test was she talking about?

Her footsteps eventually vanished into the night, but I couldn't sleep a wink the entire night.

Early the next morning, Mom was busy in the kitchen again.

"You're up, Viv. I made you your favorite oat porridge this time," she said, spooning up the hot porridge, blowing on it to cool it down, and bringing it to my lips.

"Hurry up and eat it."

I looked at her without moving.

Her eyes turned red at once.

"I know that you've been bottling up your emotions lately. But that doesn't mean you should starve yourself to death!"

I took the bowl from her and said, "I can feed myself."

I then took a spoonful of the oat porridge and pretended I was about to eat it. Then, I overturned the bowl and spilled the rest of it over my clothes.

"Ah!"

Mom exclaimed loudly and quickly jumped to her feet. There was a hint of disappointment in her eyes. It wasn't a look of concern. Rather, she seemed frustrated to have her plans upset again.

Yet, the look quickly turned into one of feigned concern and heartache for me.

"Did you burn yourself? You clumsy little thing!"

She rushed over to me as she hurriedly wiped off the porridge from me, but she also kept digging her nails into my flesh in the meantime.

Half an hour later, I began feeling an excruciating pain in my stomach. I rushed into the bathroom and began throwing up half of the contents in my stomach.

Mom stood at the door, not sounding the least bit panicked at all. In fact, she seemed to have expected my reaction as she said calmly, "See? This is what happens when you don't eat your breakfast properly. Your stomach's all upset now."

I felt my vision go black, and cold sweat seeped through my clothes.

Dad smelled the acidity in the air and asked, "What's going on?"

Mom immediately went into her acting mode and pointed at me with an upset, heartbroken look on her face.

"Your daughter's being difficult and extremely picky with her food again! She complained again about how terrible my cooking was, and see what happened to her? She's gone and given herself gastritis now!"

A split second later, however, she looked at me with an understanding expression and patted me tenderly on the head.

"It's fine. I'm not going to hold it against her anyway.

"Come on, Richard. Let's send our poor daughter to the hospital."

…

The doctor at the hospital took a look at me and said, "She has severe food poisoning. Her stomach needs to be pumped immediately."

The nurse came over with the consent form and said, "The patient needs to fast before the procedure. No food and drinks, please."

I nodded weakly.

Yet, Mom grabbed the nurse's wrist tightly and exclaimed, "No way! She refused to eat anything for days! She can't go hungry before the procedure!"

"Mrs. Larson, this is standard procedure—"

"What bullshit procedure? My daughter is about to die from malnutrition!"

Mom then stood up, suddenly produced a thermal container of the oat porridge from before, and said, "Listen to me, Vivian Larson! Take a bite of this. Just one bite will do!"

She then nudged the spoonful of porridge firmly against my lips.

I shut my lips tightly and refused to eat it, even turning my head away from her.

"Mom… Doctor said… No food…"

"What does the doctor know! I'm doing this for your own good!" she cried, almost on the verge of tears. "Are you trying to starve yourself to death?"

She then forcefully pulled me back to face her by my shoulder. I still kept my mouth tightly shut. She spilled the porridge all over my face, and I frowned hard in pain.

"The patient needs to fast before the procedure!" the nurse cried, trying to stop Mom.

Mom shoved the nurse away angrily and said, "She is my daughter! I am the one who has the final say!"

The scene was a mess.

The doctor rushed over when he heard what was going on and questioned sternly, "What are you trying to do, Mrs. Larson?"

Mom immediately let go of me. She took a step backward as tears immediately flooded her face. Then, she pointed a finger at my nose and began crying hysterically, "Doctor! Talk some sense into her!

"She was so hungry that she wouldn't stop crying and insisted on eating something first! I didn't have any other choice…"

I lay on the bed, feeling a cold chill run down my spine as I watched Mom's performance.

The doctor frowned. "The patient obviously refused to eat just now."

Mom's cries stopped at once. Her eyes doubled in size as she stared incredulously at the doctor, then at me, like she was the one being mistreated.

"Viv… How could you! How could you lie to me like that? You were the one who begged me to buy the porridge for you just now!"

She then looked at the other patients in the ward, as if she were trying to find some other people to support her.

"This daughter of mine… She's too stubborn for words… She won't stop torturing me even though she's so sick…"

The doctor couldn't be bothered to continue indulging her performance anymore and wheeled me straight into the operating theatre to pump my stomach.

Even until the moment the tube was inserted into my throat, I couldn't stop staring at Mom's figure outside the door.

She was standing in the hallway, and I could see the slightest hint of a smile on her lips then.