PREVIEW
... of it all. Mom's chicken parmesan, the ultimate weapon in her arsenal, sits steaming on my plate, the aroma of basil and melted mozzarella assaulting my senses. Even through the fog of self-loathing and confusion, my stomach growls. The first bite is a betrayal I can't resist. My taste buds lighting up like they're getting paid overtime.
"How is it, honey?" Mom asks, her voice dripping with that sugary sweetness that used to feel safe but now feels like a trap.
I can't meet her e ...
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