A terrifying thought began to form in my mind, growing like a thick shadow that I could not ignore, squeezing my chest with a silent and unbearable force.
I looked at Hue, trembling, with red eyes, trying to smile, as if I wanted to protect myself from something I didn’t fully understand at that moment.
“Since when have you been eating this?” I asked, trying to remain calm, but my voice came out harsher than I intended, full of suspicion.
She hesitated, pressed her lips together, lowered her gaze, and her hands began to tremble slightly, as if she were calculating how much she could say without breaking something.
“It’s nothing… just today… I didn’t want to waste food,” she replied in a low voice, not daring to look me directly in the eyes.
I felt a mixture of anger and confusion, because nothing fit with the image I had in my head of how they were living in my absence.
I had trusted my mother, I had given her money every month, believing that everything was under control, that Hue was fine, cared for, fed.
But that scene in front of me was no exception; I could feel it in the way she hid the plate, in the speed with which she ate.
“Tell me the truth, Hue,” I insisted, this time more slowly. “This isn’t from today, is it?”
The silence that followed was more revealing than any answer, as if words had ceased to be necessary at that moment.
She began to cry, silently, with tears falling directly onto the spoiled rice, mingling with something deeper.
“I didn’t mean to worry you…” she murmured. “You work so much… I didn’t want to be another burden.”
His words did not reassure me; on the contrary, they made me feel more uncomfortable, as if I were only looking at the surface of something much darker.
I looked around the kitchen, searching for signs, details I hadn’t noticed before, as if my house was no longer the same place I remembered.
The refrigerator was almost empty, with just a few wilted vegetables, a bottle of sauce, and remnants of something that was no longer clearly distinguishable.
My breathing became heavy, because I understood that this was not an accident or an improvisation, it was a silent routine that I was unaware of.
“And my mother?” I finally asked. “Does she know you’re eating like this?”
Hue slowly raised his head, and in his eyes I saw something I didn’t expect: not fear, but a kind of weary resignation.
“Yes…” he replied, and that simple word fell like a stone inside my chest, plunging me into a reality I didn’t want to accept.
I felt my whole body tense up, as if every muscle was trying to reject what I had just heard.
—What do you mean by “yes”? —my voice was no longer calm—. Does she give you this?
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