My Mom's Favorite Son Nearly Killed Me

I said, "Thank you for your generosity, ma'am, and… happy birthday to your son."

I picked up the 200 dollars and bolted, ignoring the pain shooting up my leg as I ducked into the staff corridor.

Leaning against the wall, I frantically pulled off the red clown nose that threatened to suffocate me. Cold sweat drenched my back as I rolled up my pants and loosened the blackened bandage underneath.

The stench of rot and sweat wafted through the air immediately.

My leg tapered into a stump, red and swollen from relentless rubbing and pressure, like an overripe peach left to rot. My sock clung to a few abrasions that were oozing yellow fluid, and each tug on the fabric sent white-hot pain through my nerves.

I gritted my teeth as tears welled in my eyes, but I dared not whimper or sob.

Seven years ago, on Darren Jacobson's birthday, we went hiking as a family. Upon reaching the pinnacle, Darren had turned to me, grinned, and said, "Ethan, look at the view over there! It's amazing."

I let my guard down and looked in the direction Darren had pointed, only to hear his malicious murmuring in my ear. "There's only room for one son in the Jacobson family—and that's me."

A second later, a forceful shove from the back sent me tumbling off the cliff's edge and into the abyss below.

Fortunately, a tree that had grown crooked out of the mountainside caught me, and I survived my fall. However, my left leg had been crushed by falling rocks.

Dragging my broken leg, I crawled along the forsaken gully for two whole days and nights before finally arriving at an unregistered clinic at the foot of the mountain.

The man in that clinic told me that my leg couldn't be saved, and that I'd die if I didn't amputate it. The procedure was performed without anesthesia, with nothing but a rusty saw and a towel I all but gnawed to pieces to endure the pain.

An empty sensation and a bloody, bandaged stump below my left knee greeted me when I woke from the procedure.

I tried to reach out to my family and borrowed the phone from the clinic to call Mom, but she'd snapped hysterically at me on the other line. "How dare you call us up and ask for money after shoving Darren off the edge of the cliff and escaping, Ethan!

"Do you know that he's still in the hospital? I feel like kicking myself for bringing a vicious child like you back into the family! As far as I'm concerned, you're no son of mine!"

"I didn't… Mom, I really didn't…" I weakly argued. "I really did lose my leg. I'm dying…"

"Dying?" She snorted. "The wicked tend to live long. Dying or not, do me a favor and don't come back, Ethan!"

She mercilessly hung up the phone after that.

For the last seven years, I lived like a rat in the gutter. I dared not return to the Jacobson residence for fear that Darren would silence me for good, but more than that, I was afraid of meeting Mom's hateful, disgusted gaze.

"Ethan, come out right now!" An angry yell shattered my flashback.

My manager, Vincent Parker, scowled as he grabbed me by my collar. "What the hell did you do back at Zone A? Mr. Jacobson complained about your lackluster performance and creepy, unsettling stare! He's our VIP!"

I explained anxiously, "I didn't do anything wrong, Mr. Parker! I was working hard on my performance—"

"Save your excuses!" Vincent cut me off viciously. "You're fired! Also, given the gravity of the complaint, you are liable to pay damages to our restaurant as per your contract!

"We'll offset the damages against the 200-dollar tip you got, and you can forget about your paycheck! Now, get out!"

"No!" I lunged at Vincent like a madman, clutching his arm desperately. "My life depends on that 200 dollars, Mr. Parker! Please give it back—"

"Get off me! If I hadn't felt sorry for you and taken you in, a cripple like you would never have found work here in our restaurant!" Disgusted, Vincent landed a kick on my leg, his foot finding its mark right over the wound on my stump.

Searing pain replaced my strength, seizing me as I collapsed on the ground like a heap of mud.