I Forgive You, Daddy

I have an ugly scar across my face.

The older kids at the orphanage called me a monster.

They tied me to an oak tree in the yard and smeared superglue directly into my scar.

I didn't dare to cry, because Mrs. Higgins, the matron, hated ugly kids who misbehaved.

I wished upon every star, praying for the day my father would finally come and take me home.

But when he finally did, there was already another little girl taking my place.

My brother, Cole, blamed me for stealing her spot. He forced me to kneel on the floor on all fours, using my back as her personal footstool.

If she so much as whispered that I was bullying her, my father wouldn't hesitate to slap me across the face.

"I should have left you to rot in that orphanage."

Later, when I was diagnosed with a terminal illness and was actually sent back to the orphanage, my father came looking for me, choking back tears.

"I'm so sorry, Riley. Please, let's go home."

But Daddy, bad kids who nobody loves don't have a home.

...

"Stay down! If you make Patrika fall, I swear I'll make you regret it!"

I was kneeling on the hardwood floor right next to Patrika's luxurious princess bed.

It was the only spot in the room without a plush rug. The hard wood dug painfully into my bony knees.

Cole gently held Patrika's hands as she stepped up onto my back.

"Riley is too skinny. It hurts my feet to step on her..." she complained softly.

I never had enough to eat at the orphanage.

I was five years old, but I was smaller and more fragile than a typical three-year-old.

Patrika was entirely different.

She was fiercely protected and pampered by my father and Cole, her cheeks round and rosy.

Just her weight pressing down on my spine made me wobble.

My bones cracked under the pressure.

It hurt.

But it didn't hurt as much as being beaten by the other kids back at the orphanage.

They used to take sharp pocket knives and trace the jagged edges of my ugly scar.

Then they would pour superglue into the fresh cuts.

They would stuff a filthy, wet rag into my mouth so no one could hear my muffled screams.

Back then, I used to tell myself:

It'll be okay once Riley has a real family.

They'll definitely protect me.

But the more I thought about it now, the more my chest ached.

It felt just like the superglue pulling at my skin.

I accidentally swayed under Patrika's weight. Cole immediately smacked the back of my head.

"Watch it!"

"You already killed Mom, are you trying to break Patrika's legs now?"

"Patrika isn't like you. She's delicate. If she gets a single scratch, Dad will walk out of a board meeting to check on her. Know your place!"

I stuttered out a frantic apology.

"I'm sorry. It's Riley's fault."

The very first day I came home.

Cole told me that when I was just learning to crawl, I accidentally knocked over a lit candle.

To save me, my mother was burned alive in the ensuing house fire.

And I simply vanished.

He had shoved me to the ground, pointing a furious finger right in my face.

"You should be dead. What right do you have to kill Mom and then just waltz back into this house?"

I sat frozen on the floor.

The wounds the orphanage kids had dug into my face tore open again.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

But I forced them back.

I couldn't cry.

Mrs. Higgins always said ugly monsters like me didn't deserve to cry.

Only children who were loved had the right to shed tears.

Besides, I was the murderer who killed my own mother.

So if it hurt this much, it meant Mommy was angry in heaven, punishing me for being a bad kid.

The butler suddenly announced from the hallway:

"Young Master, Miss Patrika, Mr. George is home."

Patrika picked up the edges of her frilly dress and squealed, running out of the room to greet him.

"Daddy!"

Cole followed closely behind, his voice full of exasperated affection.

"Slow down, Patrika, don't trip!"

The butler watched me as I stiffly tried to push myself up off the floor.

A deep look of disgust flashed across his eyes.

"Mr. George hates tardiness. Move faster."

I finally got my feet under me.

The blinding pain in my knees made it impossible to stand up straight.

As I swayed, about to fall, I reached out to grab something to steady myself.

But as my hand brushed toward the butler's sleeve, he aggressively stepped back.

He watched with cold, dead eyes as I crashed heavily onto the floor.

"Miss Riley, I might be the hired help, but I still have standards for cleanliness."

I didn't fully understand what his words meant.

But the look in his eyes told me exactly what I needed to know.

He hated me.

He thought I was filthy.

I forced a dry, raspy apology out of my throat.

It was a survival reflex I learned at the orphanage.

As long as I apologized, the beatings wouldn't last as long.

By the time I limped my way into the grand dining room.

They were already halfway through their meal.

My father glared at me, his voice freezing cold.

"Riley George. Why are you incapable of being on time?"

The last time I was late, Cole and Patrika had locked me in the basement storage room.

I wasn't found until the maids heard me scratching at the door the following evening.

I missed two dinners that time.

The time before that, Cole had zipped me into a large suitcase.

I nearly suffocated to death, so naturally, I missed dinner then, too.

This time, my knees were bruised black and blue, swollen so badly that every step felt like walking on broken glass.

I really tried my best to get here quickly.

I didn't want Daddy to be angry.

And I really didn't want to be thrown away and sent back to the orphanage.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. Riley just..."

Before I could finish, Cole cut me off sharply.

"I don't care what your excuse is. The George family eats dinner exactly on time. Do you understand?"

I froze for a second.

Cole didn't want Daddy to know about the games he liked to play with me.

I didn't say another word and quietly climbed into my chair.

The plates in front of me were piled high with expensive seafood.

I had eaten a single shrimp once at the orphanage.

Immediately after, my entire body broke out in angry, red hives.

One of the teachers there told me I had a severe seafood allergy.

She said if it got bad enough, I would go to heaven.

Seeing that I hadn't picked up my fork, Patrika's eyes filled with tears.

"Riley, are you refusing to eat because you hate me?"

"I know... I know you feel like I stole your place... I can leave."

I didn't mean that at all!

I opened my mouth to explain, but my father's icy words stabbed straight into my chest.

"Riley. If you aren't going to eat, get out of my sight!"

He pulled Patrika onto his lap, comforting her while handing her a stack of brightly colored gift boxes I had never seen before.

"This is your home, sweetheart. Nobody is making you leave."

"You are my daughter. Don't cry."

His gentle, coaxing tone was exactly what I had always dreamed of hearing.

But the girl in his arms wasn't me.

My heart felt like it was being pinched by a crab's claws. Even breathing hurt.

I clutched my chest.

I silently mouthed: Daddy, I think my heart is allergic to you.

I didn't know how much time had passed.

The basement door clicked open.

The butler handed me a small, plain bowl of porridge.

"Mr. George was worried you'd be hungry. He sent this down for you."

I took the bowl numbly, instinct taking over.

"Thank you."

By the time the words left my mouth, the door was already locked again.

Daddy really did care about me!

The warmth of the bowl radiating into my palms made my chest feel full.

I had never eaten a hot meal at the orphanage.

The older kids always forced me to eat their cold, discarded scraps.

Since coming home, I was always locked away during dinner.

I was never allowed to eat breakfast or lunch with them during the day.

I wolfed down the sweet, warm porridge as fast as I could.

Tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

I felt so happy.

I was so incredibly happy...

I scraped the bowl completely clean.

My little stomach was perfectly round and full.

But it didn't take long.

Angry red hives erupted across my arms and chest.

My throat began to swell rapidly.

Patrika stepped into the basement, a sweet smile on her face.

"I was worried you'd still be hungry, so I asked the chef to mix some scallop broth into your porridge. Was it yummy, Riley?"

I couldn't stand up straight. I collapsed onto the concrete floor.

"Patrika... Riley needs to go to the hospital..."

My voice was barely a raspy squeak.

Cole let out a cruel, mocking laugh from behind her.

"Stop being so dramatic. You need a hospital because you ate a bowl of rice?"

"Since you're full now, get up and play with Patrika."

He tied two thick ropes to a rafter in the basement.

He tied one rope around my ankles, hoisting me up until I was hanging upside down, and forced me to grip the other rope tightly with both hands.

"Patrika wants to go on the swings. You better hold on tight. If you drop her, you're dead!"

The hives covering my body burned and itched violently.

I wanted to beg them to stop, but my throat was swelling so fast I couldn't pull air, let alone speak.

All I could manage were pathetic, muffled whimpers.

"Shut up! Stop making those annoying noises."

Cole lifted Patrika up and placed her sitting directly on my stomach.

The sudden, crushing weight made my sweaty hands slip against the coarse rope.

The next second, Cole pushed Patrika hard from behind.

My body swung wildly into the air.

My vision began to blur and go black in patches.

The single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling pierced my eyes.

I thought I saw my mother standing in the light.

If it wasn't for you, I'd still be alive.

You deserve this, Riley.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry, Mommy.

The tears I had held back for so long finally broke.

Patrika's joyful giggles echoed louder than my quiet sobs.

With every single cheer that left her mouth.

My body and my heart splintered a little more.

If people go to heaven when they die.

Then a bad kid like me would definitely be going to hell.

I lost track of time.

The butler's voice echoed down the stairs.

"Mr. George is home."

I was already completely numb to the pain.

The coarse rope had shredded the skin on my palms, leaving them slick with blood.

But I didn't dare let go.

I was terrified that if Patrika fell, she would get hurt.

When my father walked down the stairs.

Patrika viciously dug her fingernails into the back of my hand.

The sudden, blinding pain caused my fingers to reflexively pop open.

She instantly tumbled to the floor, scraping her knee.

"Patrika! Are you okay?!"

Cole rushed forward in a panic, pulling her up.

My father rushed past me, immediately kneeling down to inspect her microscopic scratch.

I was still hanging upside down from the rafters.

Watching this beautiful, loving family moment made my eyes sting with fresh tears.

"What on earth happened here?"

My father barked orders at the maids to bring the first-aid kit.

While carefully disinfecting her scratch, he demanded answers.

Patrika stayed quiet for a moment, before finally letting out a devastated sob, acting as if she couldn't hold back the injustice any longer.

"Daddy... Riley was bullying me."

"She intentionally dropped me on the hard floor. It hurts so much..."

Since the day she arrived, she had been treated like a porcelain doll. She had never known a day of pain.

The moment she cried, my father's heart broke.

He finally ordered the butler to cut me down.

Before my feet were even firmly on the ground, a heavy hand struck me across the face.

The force sent me violently crashing back onto the floor.

I stared up at him, forcing air through my constricted throat.

"Daddy... I hurt too..."

"I... I have hives..."

But I forgot.

My face was already a mangled mess of ugly, raised scar tissue.

The hives were completely invisible underneath the damage.

My father's expression darkened into something truly terrifying.

"Not only are you a pathological liar, but you're a vicious bully too?"

"Riley, I should have let you rot in that orphanage."

So it was true. Daddy hated me too.

Cole stuck his tongue out at me, mocking me.

"Serves you right. Hurry up and get sent back to the trash where you belong!"

They carried Patrika upstairs, leaving me alone in the dark.

I slowly pushed myself off the floor. I noticed a crushed ring of wildflowers lying near the staircase.

Next to it were a few dried leaves I had pressed into bookmarks.

I had spent weeks at the orphanage secretly collecting them, saving them so I could give them to my new family as gifts when I finally came home.

But someone had trampled them.

I carefully picked up the crushed pieces.

Staring at the empty staircase where they had disappeared, the tears wouldn't stop falling.

The single, fraying thread in my mind that commanded me to be a good girl finally snapped.

I couldn't hold it back anymore. I scrambled up the stairs, chasing after them.

"Daddy... Cole..."

"Please don't throw Riley away... Riley knows she was bad..."

I screamed until my vocal cords bled.

But my voice was entirely drowned out by the roar of the luxury SUV's engine starting in the driveway.

The car accelerated toward the front gates, and no matter how fast my little legs ran, I couldn't catch them.

Inside the car, the driver glanced at the rearview mirror.

"Mr. George, Miss Riley is chasing the car..."

My father looked in the mirror, then looked down at Patrika, who was still whimpering softly in his arms.

His voice was like ice.

"Ignore her."

Drip...

The sky opened up, pouring heavy, freezing rain.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

When I looked down, my hand was smeared with bright red.

I wiped my face again.

Blood.

It was all blood.

I read in a picture book once that if you lose too much blood, you die.

Mommy, this must be what bad kids get.

I collapsed onto the wet pavement.

The crushed flowers and leaves were washed away in the muddy puddles, completely destroyed. Just like my heart.

When I woke up again.

I heard my father talking to a doctor outside the hospital room door.

"The little girl's condition is catastrophic."

"The anaphylactic shock nearly killed her, and her body is covered in both old, healed fractures and fresh lacerations..."

"But the most critical issue is the tumor growing in her brain. She likely only has a few months left to live."

My father's voice was hoarse, trembling slightly.

"Are you telling me... my daughter has terminal cancer?"

So it was true.

I really was going to die soon.

I slid out of the hospital bed and quietly sneaked out the back stairwell.

If Daddy wanted me to go back to the orphanage.

Then I would go back.

Before I left, I scribbled a note on a scrap of paper.

Just like the day I was born, I disappeared without making a sound.

When I showed up at the orphanage gates, Mrs. Higgins sneered.

"Look who's crawling back."

"Did your rich daddy finally figure out he didn't want you?"

I gripped the hem of my thin hospital gown, the rough fabric digging into my bloody palms.

"No. Riley decided she didn't want them anymore."

The older kids erupted into vicious, mocking laughter.

"Who do you think you are?"

"You got thrown away because you're a hideous freak!"

I didn't even see who threw the first punch.

Fists and slaps rained down on my face and body.

I should have been completely used to this.

So why did it hurt so much this time?

It hurt so much I couldn't stop crying.

Riley doesn't want to be thrown away.

Riley doesn't want to die.

Riley isn't a bad kid.

My face was slick with fresh blood.

Just as my knees gave out, I was caught in a pair of strong, unfamiliar arms.

My father, his eyes bloodshot and blazing with rage, roared at Mrs. Higgins.

"Is this how you take care of my daughter?!"