The Taste of Freedom
Language: en
All because I picked the chunks of pure pork fat out of my plate during a family dinner. The second we got home, Mom’s eyes turned bloodshot, and she blew up in my face. "How did I raise such an ungrateful, wasteful brat?" "When I was your age, I had to dig for wild greens just to survive!" Yelling wasn't enough. She grabbed the broom and beat me with it, over and over. She didn't stop until I was covered in bruises and blood, sobbing for mercy. "Mom... please... I'll eat the fat." Only then did she smile. Satisfied, she dragged out three massive mixing bowls piled high with cold, greasy…