Chapter 2
Thankfully, I still had Dad. At least in my memory, he was the only one in the family who would still look me in the
eye.
He’d always sit quietly on the sofa after dinner, wearing his gold–rimmed glasses, slowly flipping through newspapers and magazines or scrolling on his tablet–steady and calm.
But whenever Mother lost control and her violence escalated, he was never around–either in meetings or on business trips, as if every time disaster struck, he cleverly vanished into thin air.
Whenever he left home, I became the one left for the beast to devour.
I couldn’t even figure out how I’d survived this long.
Lying on the cold hospital bed, my body was covered in countless bruises of all sizes, some still seeping blood.
Mother still stood beside the bed in her beige knit dress, elegant to the point of being saintly.
But her eyes were ice–cold, staring at me in a way that made my whole body shiver. She looked at me like I was a failed creation that needed to be disposed of.
My limbs trembled uncontrollably, my throat was parched, but I still managed to ask hoarsely:
“Mom… why do you hate me so much? What did I do wrong? Please tell me I’ll never do it again.”
I really wanted to know.
But she just paused, then smiled–that kind of mocking, disgusted smile.
“Why?” she repeated softly, then shrugged.
“There is no why. I hit you because I want to fucking hit you. Your only value is letting me vent my emotions. My only regret is not beating you to death.”
She spoke like she was discussing a failed piano recital–casual, emotionless.
I was completely heartbroken.
I knew that this time, she truly intended to kill me.
Before being sent to the hospital this time, she’d violently smashed a glass jar against the back of my head in the kitchen–I almost heard bones crack.
She’d also used broken glass to slash my shoulder, and I’d bled nonstop until I lost consciousness.
02:40
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Fatal photos: My Mom!
Chapter 2
But before passing out, I’d done one last thing.
I’d sent my boyfriend Noah a text: “Help.”
His face flashed in my mind–those dark eyes, that perpetually warm smile, and all those gentle promises.
Just then, the hospital room door was kicked open. The next second, Noah burst in with two police officers behind
him.
“Daphne!” He rushed to my bedside, almost kneeling as he collapsed beside me, his fingers carefully touching the gauze on my shoulder.
When he saw the bloodstains, his expression nearly shattered.
His voice cracked as he growled: “My God… how did you end up like this?”
Then he shot to his feet, turning toward my mother–that lady who remained perpetually elegant and indifferent.
“What the fuck kind of person are you?!” His voice was deafening.
“Is Daphne really your daughter? Even a stray dog shouldn’t be beaten like this! Someone like you… doesn’t deserve
to be a mother!”
His eyes blazed with fury and pain, fists clenched until his knuckles turned white, as if one more word would make him lose control and throw a punch.
But my mother just smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt, her expression unchanged.
The lead officer stepped forward, raising handcuffs.
“Mrs. Donovan, you’re suspected of inflicting long–term violence against your daughter. Please come with us to the station for questioning.”
She simply looked up mildly, as if completely indifferent to these procedures, extending her wrists, didn’t even ask a single question.
Noah still stood there, breathing heavily. His voice trembling:
“I’ll testify. She… this isn’t the first time she’s been this brutal. Daphne constantly has bruises. Her mother needs to be
restrained. She’s insane.”
That’s when my mother laughed, with a kind of secret–keeping, calm, victorious smile.
She reaches into her beige handbag, pulls out her cell phone, opens the photo album, and greets Noah with fingers that are beautifully manicured with crystals.
“Come here, boy. Don’t you want to know who she really is? Then you should watch this.”
02:10
