The next day, my daughter came home from work earlier than usual. In her hands was a small paper box. Inside was a slice of strawberry cream cake.
“Mom, you said you wanted cake yesterday. I bought one after work, your favorite strawberry flavor. Please have some.”
She held the cake out to me, her eyes filled with fragile hope. I looked at it and said flatly, “I don’t want it now.”
A hint of sadness crossed her face as disappointment sank in, but she forced a small smile and asked, “Then what would you like to eat? I’ll make it for you.”
I gave her a cold look and replied, “I don’t want to eat anything you make.”
I turned my wheelchair and moved toward the balcony for some air. Just as I was leaving the room, I ran into Hayden, who was playing on his phone. The bump made his phone fall to the floor, and he immediately exploded in anger.
“Damn it! I was in the middle of an important match! Because of you, I lost! That was my promotion round!”
He grabbed his phone and kicked my wheelchair hard, making it jolt violently and tilt to one side.
“Mom!”