The Blood-Stained Sour Candy
When I was seven years old, my younger brother went into anaphylactic shock after sneaking a handful of peanuts.
Outside the emergency room, my mother slammed my head against the wall over and over, her face twisted with rage.
"If you had been watching him like you were supposed to be, this never would have happened! You should be the one with a ruptured stomach, not him!"
After that, whenever my brother so much as caught a cold, my mother forced me to eat spoiled leftovers as punishment.
I once prepared an elaborate feast. She flipped the entire table and made me crawl on the floor to lick it clean.
When I said I wanted to study culinary arts, she poured hot oil over my hands.
My fath