Mom knew perfectly well that this wasn't Freya's cooking. But even so, she still ate happily.Unlike me, no matter how much effort I put in, even if my fingers bled from trying, I could never earn a single smile from her.Ever since I was kicked out of the house, I tried everything to win Mom's favor. I wanted her to know that I loved her.When Dad was still around, every time he made Mom angry, he would cook her favorite dishes to cheer her up.The year before last, on Mom's birthday, I spent half a month learning to cook from Grandma, memorizing Dad's signature dishes.That night, I waited outside our home for hours, crouching by the door until Mom finally came back from working late.I jumped up eagerly and ran toward her, holding up the lunchbox like an offering. My voice was small, almost pleading. "Mom, you must be exhausted from work."The moment Mom saw the lunchbox, her face turned dark. She lunged forward, knocking it out of my hands, and exploded in a fit of rage."Y
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