Holding my daughter's hand, we sat down at the table, where my parents were already eating quietly. Across from them was Astrid.
Soon, Mandy brought out two different breakfasts — one for each girl. Astrid’s plate had fresh milk, while Zera’s didn’t.
Seeing this, my blood immediately boiled.
"Mandy," I said, trying to keep my voice calm, "why are their breakfasts different? Astrid has fresh milk. Where’s Zera’s?"
She barely looked up as she answered, "Astrid’s a growing girl. She needs the nutrients. While Zera had already drank plenty of milk when she was younger — giving her more now is just a waste."
At that point, my patience snapped. I slammed my palm against the table, making everyone jump.
"Can you hear yourself? Since when does my daughter not deserve a glass of milk?!"
Mandy muttered something under her breath before reluctantly saying, "I'll go get one now."
However, it took her nearly half an hour to return, and when she did, she slammed the glass down so hard that milk sloshed over the sides.
"No more fresh milk. This is all we have."