Chapter 1
My mom has 5 daughters.
Very lucky that we are quintuplets.
But unfortunately, all four of my sisters were her babies and sweethearts, and only I, the youngest – was her punching bag
While my sisters received endless love and care, all I got from her was fists and anger.
I used to wonder if I wasn’t one of the quintuplets, but all five of us looked almost identical to Mom.
I even stole mom’s hair for a paternity test.
The result?
There was no doubt that I was her own flesh and blood.
When she was about to hit me for the 999th time, Grandpa rushed over to stop her, fearing that my newly grown leg would break again.
Just then, mom showed him 5 pictures on her phone.
Grandpa looked at them and immediately went from defending me to snarling, “Break her legs!”
Grandma also looked at the 5 pictures and started begging mom to kill me with red eyes.
Even my boyfriend, who swore he would never leave me, broke up with me without looking back after looking at those 5 photos and then emigrated overnight.
I really don’t understand. Why does everyone want me dead?
What the hell are the 5 photos in my mom’s phone?
I woke up from unconsciousness, aching all over.
The hospital room was quiet, and my mother stood by the bed, looking at me indifferently.
‘Still alive? What remarkable luck. Next time, I’ll make sure you never wake up again.”
This was the 1000th time I’d been sent to the hospital.
And all 99 times could be traced back to the gentle–looking woman before me-
my biological mother.
Chapter 1
This time, her reason for violence was simply that I’d accidentally splashed a few drops of dish soap onto the edge of the sink while washing dishes.
Sounds unreasonable? For her, that was enough.
I mustered all my strength to look up at her, trying to catch a glimmer of human emotion in her eyes-
even just a hint of remorse or maternal warmth.
But there was nothing.
She looked at me like I was an utterly repulsive stain, a piece of history she refused to acknowledge.
From my earliest memories, she’d only given me fists, slaps, verbal abuse, and that understated humiliation-
the cold art of precise cutting.
Meanwhile, my four sisters lived lives that seemed to belong to an entirely different family.
Everything they possessed was something I was never allowed to touch.
Mother would hand–craft elaborate macarons for them, specially learning Mediterranean cuisine just to satisfy
their occasional whims.
Meanwhile, I only got moldy black bread and yesterday’s leftovers.
Even if I ate those too slowly, she’d snatch the plate away, saying through gritted teeth.
“You don’t deserve food! Better to starve to death!”
I remember when in middle school, my sisters each looked like four princesses in limited edition high fashion and jewelry made of the highest quality pearls and diamonds.
And me? My hair was disheveled and dusty, wearing a torn shirt salvaged from the trash with two holes held together by safety pins.
How could any mother hate her own child like this?
30 once, I secretly collected a few strands of hair from her brush and sent them for DNA testing.
The result? One hundred percent-
I was her biological daughter.
This only deepened my confusion.
Why did she hate me so much?
02:40
Fatal photos: My Mom Tried to Kill Me and the World Cherred?
Chapter 1
Was I evidence of some affair scandal?
A shameful mistake from her youth?
This thought disturbed me.
I began secretly observing my father-
that man who always sat silently at the dinner table with a serious expression.
He always wore neat dark suits, steady as a statue.
I spent weeks following him, even sneaking through his emails and call records at night.
But the results were surprisingly clean.
No secret lovers, no double life-
just an ordinary middle–aged office worker, at least on the surface.
So I could only accept reality and continue being surrounded by daily violence and humiliation for over a decade, until today.
It’s not like I never sought help.
[ secretly called my grandparents at their rural farm.
On the other end, Grandpa listened to my tears with shock and anger.
“This is too cruel!”
He rushed to our house, saw the dense bruises covering my arms, and shouted with trembling rage.
‘How could any mother beat her own daughter like this?! Have you lost your mind?!”
Mother didn’t argue.
She simply pulled out her phone calmly, opened her albums to show pictures, and handed it to Grandpa.
The number of photos is small. But after watching it, Grandpa’s face changed-
from anger to bewilderment, then to fear, and finally to deep disgust.
He no longer looked at me, just forcefully shook off my hand and pushed me to the ground.
Then he whispered harshly.
‘You’re right–this child should never have been kept! She… she’s a damned monster.”
02:40
Fatal photos: My Mom Tried to Kill Me and the World Cheered?
5.00
Chapter 1
Grandma hesitated at first, but after looking at the photos, she too was silent.
She didn’t scold mom, she just said, “Get rid of it as soon as possible, don’t put it off.”
Everyone I’d ever sought help from had seen those pictures.
And they all had the same reaction: I, Daphne, deserved to die.
My four sisters stood behind Mother, watching her beat me over and over again, with no mercy.
Their expressions didn’t even show curiosity-
as if they’d always known I didn’t belong here.
I truly couldn’t understand.
What exactly was in those pictures?
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What could possibly make everyone willingly believe that I deserved to die?
02:40
