Chapter 1

The morning I got my university acceptance letter, I woke up early and made Mom some toast and coffee.

She seemed surprised, then smiled, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “Your acceptance letter arrived, didn’t it? It’s much more stable to stay close to home. I heard it’s a big, wild world out there, easy for someone young like you to get led astray. Besides, wouldn’t it be better to stay close? You could still have my home-cooked meals every night.”

“Oh, and I already canceled your plane tickets. It’s too dangerous for a bunch of young guys your age to travel alone. If you really want to go, Mom will take some time off and go with you later.”

“What’s with that expression? Everything Mom does is for your own good.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking, taking a few bites, when she suddenly frowned. “This coffee… it tastes a little off?”

I looked at her, and for the first time in months, I truly smiled.

“Yeah, I added some of that rat poison you bought yesterday.”

Maybe it was my expression, but Mom froze, her gaze immediately shifting to the rat poison on the shoe cabinet, which had been opened at some point.

She’d just bought it and hadn’t gotten around to opening it yet.

“Just because Mom changed your major, you’re going to kill Mom?”

I looked at the disbelief on her face, barely suppressing the chilling sense of impending release, and picked up the glass of milk next to me, taking a sip.

The bitter taste of the rat poison shot through my throat, making me gag and want to throw up.

Just like every day since I received that community college acceptance letter.

“I’m kidding.”

Mom paused, then breathed a sigh of relief, and continued her lecture.

“Mom knows you wanted to study medicine, but everyone says being a medical student is incredibly tough, a real grind. It’s not like being a teacher, which is much more chill and you get long breaks. Plus, you have a good grasp of the humanities, you should become an English teacher.”

“Worst case, you can just marry a doctor, right? That way you won’t have to study so hard, and you can spend more time at home with Mom. By the time you’re thirty, you’ll definitely thank Mom for changing your major.”

My hands, hanging by my sides, clenched tightly and trembled slightly, but Mom didn't notice a thing.

Actually, the poison was in my cup. I drank the last mouthful.

“Mom, remember, you killed me with your own hands.”

…

Everyone said my mom loved me very much.

When I was five, she divorced my dad, citing incompatible values, without hesitation.

Mom didn’t take a dime in child support. She worked nine-hour shifts during the day and then set up a stall at the night market in the evenings. While she stir-fried noodles for customers, she’d supervise my homework.

Whenever customers saw this, they’d feel for her, praising her as the most responsible mother in the world.

She worked tirelessly, raising me all by herself.

In first grade, my essay, "My Mom," won the city’s gold prize.

The principal, a friend of my mother's, presented the award to me. After handing me the certificate, she patted my shoulder meaningfully.

“You’re a boy, you need to learn to be good to your mom. She’s had such a hard life, and you’re all she has.”

I nodded hard and said loudly.

“I’ll definitely be good to Mom!”

Mom stood below the stage, tears streaming down her face, applauding for me.

For my eighteenth birthday party, Mom spent half a month taking a class and personally made my favorite chocolate mousse cake.

She smiled and asked what I wished for.

From her expectant gaze, I could tell she hoped my wish involved her, something like a dutiful child wishing for her health or safety.

But I didn't say anything, blowing out the candles in one breath.

My wish actually *was* about my mom.

Except it was to hope my mom would die soon.

Or that I would.