Chapter 2

"Actually, I knew you were raising a chicken all along. I just wanted to wait until you fattened it up a bit before killing it."

Mom's eyes crinkled with satisfaction, her face full of pride.

"Don't think I don't know everything. I have complete control over every aspect of your life."

I stared hard at the chicken in the pot.

I couldn't count how many days and nights it had kept me company.

I found it right after Mom had thrown me out of the house for having a marker in my bag that didn't belong to me.

It sat alone in the grass with one lame leg.

I quietly brought it home, nursed it carefully, then secretly hid it away.

It seemed almost spiritual—it never made a sound, staying obediently in the little box under my bed, neither crying nor fussing.

I'd long since come to think of it as my friend, the first and only friend I'd ever had in my life.

But Mom stewed it on my eighteenth birthday.

Mom picked up a piece of chicken meat with her fork and brought it to my face. "Eat it. Chicken is so nutritious. I stewed it for two hours."

"You raised it yourself, so it must taste especially good."

A violent wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I rushed to the toilet and knelt there, retching violently.

I threw up until only bile came out. Just as I was about to stand up, something heavy crashed down on me.

A solid wood stool landed squarely on my leg.

"Joy, you dare give me attitude? I haven't even settled the score with you for secretly keeping that beast!"

"Mom..." I spoke through the pain, "It's not a beast, it's my friend..."

"Friend?!" Mom shot to her feet as if I'd shocked her, grabbing the ruler she always kept on the couch.

"You have me as your mother—isn't that enough? What do you need a friend for?"

"You want to run off with your friends like your father did and abandon your mother, don't you? Now you're hiding things from me. What's next? Are you going to start hiding people?"

I trembled and backed away, raising my hands to shield myself while shaking my head.

"Mom, today is my eighteenth birthday..."

"So you're an adult now? You can do whatever you want? You don't have to listen to me anymore?"

"I'm going to teach you a lesson today!"

The ruler rose high and fell hard.

I covered my head, not daring to cry or scream.

This was a rule Mom had established when I was young: for every tear that fell, she'd add ten more strikes.

So I bit my lip hard and didn't shed a single tear.

But I hurt so much. The dining table blurred before my eyes, and the living room lights grew dimmer and dimmer.

As Mom kept hitting me, she started crying first.

"I risked my life in ten months of pregnancy to give birth to you, and this is how you repay me now that you're eighteen?"

She cried with snot and tears running down her face.

I stood up to comfort her, but she shoved me away.

"Since you've grown wings and want to fly away, get out!"

The next second, I was pushed stumbling out the front door.

It was a bitter December winter, and I wore only a thin shirt.

I shivered with cold, huddling in the stairwell.

At least they hadn't confiscated my phone. I picked it up and dialed the number I knew by heart.

The call was answered just before it would have disconnected. "Hello... Dad..."

"Joy, I'm very busy right now. Whatever it is, we'll talk later."

Beep beep beep... The call was cut off cleanly.

"Dad, today is my birthday. I miss you."

I murmured to myself. Only the howling wind answered me.

My heart sank bit by bit.

Until this day, my eighteenth birthday.

I was finally forced to admit a painful and desperate truth.

My father and mother.

Neither of them loved me.