I Chose to Walk Away

It was the fourth day of our mandatory freshman training program. I agonized over my message, typing and deleting it again and again before finally sending it.

"Mom, there are only a few days of training left. If I skip breakfast, I won't have the energy to get through the training. Just send me $2."

To my surprise, she replied almost immediately, but the moment I saw her response, my spirits plummeted.

"$2? Isn't one egg only $1.5? What do you need that much money for? Are you trying to trick me?"

Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead.

My stomach was already aching from hunger. Still, I carefully explained, "One egg won't fill me up. I want to get a breakfast biscuit, too."

…

This time, she took a long time to respond.

By then, my roommates had already finished breakfast and were getting ready to head to the field for training.

I held my growling stomach and could not help glancing toward my roommate's desk.

A box of fresh, delicious-looking pastries sat there untouched.

Hudson Foster, my roommate who was studying medicine, was a spoiled rich kid. On the first day of college, his parents had taken one look at our six-person dorm room and immediately frowned.

They worried their son would not sleep well. They were afraid his particular personality might cause friction with his roommates.

I still remembered his father, a powerful businessman who was a force to be reckoned with at his company, repeatedly asking the other five of us to be patient with his son and look out for him.

It was the kind of concern I had never once seen from my own mother.

At that moment, Hudson was complaining that there was a tear in his training uniform and he could not wear it.

I thought about it again and again before finally throwing what little remained of my pride out the window.

I picked up my own training uniform and said to Hudson, "Hudson, I'll trade uniforms with you. But could you give me one of those pastries?"

In an instant, I felt several scorching looks boring into my back. Then came a burst of snickering.

"Is this kid starving or something? Does his family not feed him?"

My face burned red, but I could not say a word. Because ever since I started college, my family really had stopped feeding me.

I thought Hudson would laugh at me like everyone else.