My mother’s voice cracked into a sob, sharp and trembling. “I take care of four kids, you have no idea—” “Quiet!” my father growled, rage spilling out. I gripped my chopsticks, nails cutting my palm. My siblings bent over their bowls, rice steam hanging still. Mom, please stop, I begged silently. But she raised her voice. “You’re never home … all you ever do is—” She sprang up, the chair screeching. Almost as she fled through the doorway, a bowl shattered on the wall behind her, shards flying. In my head, her unfinished words rang on: —lose your temper.
Huina Zheng either writes as an admission coach at work or writes for fun after work.