I looked at his hands, no calluses, no signs of a hard day’s work. And my mom, even though her clothes were worn out, her face was still smooth and soft. They didn’t look like people who had ever really struggled.
The bitterness inside me bubbled up, but I couldn’t stop it.
Mom, noticing I had been standing too long, quickly helped me back to the room.
Dinner that night was a disaster. Discounted vegetables from the market—yellowing leaves, bugs crawling on them and white eggs floating in the soup.
Dad gave an awkward smile, looking embarrassed. "Savannah, your mom spent half a month’s living expenses on that cake for you. We're a little short on money right now, but we’ll make do. Once I get paid from the construction site, we’ll go grab those spicy hot wings you love."
It was hard to say anything. Everything felt fake now.
My mom started crying too, her voice trembling. "It's my fault I couldn’t give you a better life. Because of me, you couldn’t even get the scholarship... Savannah, I’m so sorry."
I stared at the sad, greenish food on the old dining table and pushed the plate toward them, my face completely blank.