The thunderous slam of the door shook the tears from my eyes.
Mom called me calculating, yet she wouldn't even give me the croissants left on my sister's plate. It turned out it wasn't that I made fewer croissants—there simply wasn't any portion for me at all.
After my mother left, she never came back. Not even a phone call. And I didn't call her either.
Later, I saw Melody updated her social media feed. It was a photo of her and my mother eating croissants together.
Instead, my sister called me, "Sylvia, you need to be more generous. Why make mom unhappy over a few croissants? She's staying with you all the time, so you can always eat her croissants."
"Why be so petty? Do you think I ate them all? Look how upset mom is!"
My sister immediately started to criticise.
I felt nothing inside, only asking her indifferently, "Were the croissants good? Thanks to you, the last time I had croissants was during the New Year."
Her lecture abruptly ended.
"You think mom favors me? Do you really think she's that kind of person?!"
She hung up.
The next day, my mother came home grumbling.
"It's just a few croissants. What's wrong with eating less? Have I ever starved you? Do you realize your words made your sister feel so guilty?"
"Favoritism? I cook for you, take care of you, but your sister never got that treatment! If anyone's showing favoritism, it's me favoring you!"
Her finger was practically poking my face.
"You said it yourself—just a few croissants. Did I not make enough? I spent half the day preparing them. Why should I only get two croissants?"
I felt so wronged.
We were both her daughters, but why did I get the huge mistreatment then?
My mother was about to say more when the alarm clock rang.
She hurriedly turned it off, grabbed some ingredients from the fridge and got busy in the kitchen.
After packing the meal, she seemed to remember something. Setting the lunchbox on the table, she dashed back to her room.
I stared at the lunchbox on the table and reached out my hand toward it.
When my mother came out, she was holding the durian I'd bought two days earlier.
When I wanted to eat it, she told me she'd eaten it—turns out she'd been saving it for my sister.
"I saved some food for you on the table. I really don't know what you have to complain about. I treat both of you sisters equally."
But not long after, my mother returned carrying the lunchbox.
"Sylvia, did you touch Melody's food?"
The lunchbox slammed onto the floor, spilling its contents.
Tomato scrambled eggs with only tomatoes, chili stir-fried pork with only chili peppers, soybeans stewed with pig's trotters with only soybeans.
I forced a grin and joked, "Mom, the food looks fine. Didn't Melody eat any?"
My mother instinctively retorted. "This is clearly leftovers she picked through. How could Melody eat such food?"
As soon as she said it, her face turned deathly pale.
I felt like I was about to cry.
"So this is the kind of food I'm supposed to eat?"
Back then, my mother had refused to stay with my sister and chose to stay with me instead.
"Your sister's room is tiny and my snoring is loud—I wouldn't want to disturb her rest. You have two rooms here and I can still cook for you."
I was genuinely happy she'd come to stay with me. After all, since then, she'd always favored Melody more, but this time she chose me.
Whatever the reason, my mother really did come to cook for me, just as she said. But everything she cooked was what Melody liked.
Of course, I bought all the ingredients.
Every time she finished cooking, she'd pick out the best bits first—just like today—and send them over to my sister.
Leaving me only the leftovers.
