Chapter 3
Pure terror spread like wildfire from my chest to my limbs.
I lunged toward Noah, desperately grabbing his coat sleeve, my knuckles white, almost tearing through the fabric.
“Don’t!”
My voice was broken and hoarse, like rusty nails being forced from my throat.
“Please, Noah, please don’t look… don’t look at those pictures…”
I knew what would happen. I’d seen it too many times.
Everyone–My family, friends, even teachers I trusted–once they saw those pictures, their gaze would never be the
same.
The warmth in their eyes would freeze to ice, their tone filled only with disgust and wariness, as if I’d become some unforgivable monster.
I looked at Noah, those eyes that had once comforted me, now filled with confusion.
“Daphne, don’t be afraid,” he said softly, gently gripping my trembling hands.
“I’m here. Your mother will never touch you again.”
But I couldn’t let go. My nails had already dug into his sleeve–I just couldn’t risk it.
“Noah, please… I’m begging you… don’t go over there.”
My voice shook with absolute terror. Tears were already forming in my eyes.
Even though we’d shared our most vulnerable scars on that college rooftop, even though he’d gently protected me when my roommates‘ bullying drove me to breakdown-
I was still afraid he’d change.
The more I pleaded, the more I could feel his curiosity growing.
He gently pried my fingers loose, his eyes holding a stubborn determination.
“Whatever psychological warfare your mother is playing, I want to know what pictures could possibly justify
violence.”
He walked over and took the phone from my mother’s hands.
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Fatal photos: My Mom Tried to Kill Me, and the World Cheered?
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Chapter 3
I stared at him intently, watching him check the picture album.
In that moment, I prayed to every possible god–even just some empty cosmic will–please, just this once, don’t let
him change.
But my prayers, as always, were swallowed by the universe.
As the photos were turned over one by one, Noah’s expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then… everything changed.
His face turned pale, lips slightly parted, as if he’d seen something from the depths of hell.
He stood frozen, eyes vacant. No more comfort or outrage. He looked at my mother and said nothing.
She just smiled at him, as if everything was under control.
Then Noah turned to me. His eyes–which had once been my only refuge in dark nights-
Now looked like a slammed door: cold, closed, distant.
He handed the phone back to my mother, his tone so calm it made me want to scream.
“Officer, I’m truly sorry for wasting your time. This is a misunderstanding.”
He was actually… defending her.
“There’s no abuse here, just some internal family… conflict.”
The officers were clearly hesitant, but faced with his firm expression, they glanced at me-
Perhaps seeing the devastation in my eyes, or perhaps having grown accustomed to the helplessness of similar cases–and finally, reluctantly unlocked the handcuffs.
Before leaving, one officer looked back at me, his expression… mixing pity with powerlessness.
And Noah, the boy who had once cleaned my wounds in the school infirmary and shielded me from gossip, now tood beside my mother.
His expression had become identical to hers: calm, composed, flawless.
What happened next was like a nightmare.
He actually slowly knelt on one knee before my mother.
‘Mrs. Donovan,” his voice carried a tremor but was unusually clear.
‘I’m sorry for misunderstanding you before. I… I understand now. You should finish what you started.”
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Fatal photos: My Mom Tried to Kill Me, and the World Cheered?
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Chapter 3
“She–she’d be better off dead.”
1
I felt something pierce through my heart in that instant.
Tears fell like broken pearls. “Noah… why? How could you do this?!”
But he wouldn’t even look at me. His voice seemed wrapped in poison:
“You deserve everything you’re about to face.”
I looked at him.
This boy who had once held an umbrella for me in the rain, who had carefully wiped blood from my face with trembling hands, who had secretly eaten fast food with me in library corners during my darkest days, who had secretly written jokes to help me sleep…
He had once held my hands, his eyes full of determination.
“You really won’t leave me, will you?” I had once asked him quietly, my voice filled with fragile desperation.
And he had smiled. That was my favorite smile, as if he could light up the entire world.
“Of course not. If your family tramples on you, then I have to pamper you twice as much, treat you like a princess.”
But now, this same boy stood beside my mother, bowing to her in submission.
In that moment, my heart truly shattered.
I finally understood: what kind of evil was hidden in that pictures that could destroy all former tenderness and
love?
Why did everyone–without exception–want me dead once they saw it?
Putal photos: My Mom Tried to Kill Me, and the World Cheered?
