The Abuse That Saved My Life

On my eighth birthday, I wore the princess dress my mom had sewn for me with her own hands and made a wish under my whole family's love.

Mom held me and said I was her most precious baby.

But overnight, it was like my mom had been replaced by an evil ghost.

She cut off my long hair and cut up all my princess dresses.

She transferred me from an expensive private school to the worst elementary school in the city.

Dad asked her if she had lost her mind.

Mom only said coldly, "I regret giving birth to her."

Later, my classmates cornered me in an alley and stole my allowance, and I ran home crying.

But Mom did not even look at me and only pushed a bowl of cold rice in front of me.

"Why are you crying? In this world, the most useless thing is tears."

I had a high fever, hugged her leg, and begged her to take me to the hospital.

But she shook me off hard, went shopping with her friends, and left me at home burning up until I was barely conscious.

I only wanted to know: Mom, why don't you love me anymore?

I woke up in bed, my fever still not gone, and my whole body hurt.

Dad was anxiously wiping my face with a wet towel, his eyes red.

"Maria, I'm here, don't be scared."

Yesterday, Mom left me home alone, and I burned with fever until I was barely conscious.

Dad was the one who came home and found me collapsed on the floor.

The door sounded, and Mom came back, carrying several shopping bags in her hands.

When she saw me, she frowned. "Why are you still in bed?"

Dad stood up, and the chair rocked from the motion.

"Catherine, Maria has a high fever. Where did you go yesterday?"

Mom casually threw the shopping bags onto the sofa. "Shopping. I bought a few pieces of clothing."

Her tone was light and careless.

Dad was shaking with anger, his fists clenching and loosening.

"Maria was burning up like this yesterday, and you were actually in the mood to go shopping?"

Mom glanced at me, her tone impatient.

"She won't die. It's normal for kids to get fevers."

"I'm taking her to the hospital."

Mom blocked the doorway. "What hospital? What a waste of money."

For the first time, Dad got physical with her and shoved her away hard.

"Catherine, are you crazy?"

Dad picked me up and rushed to the hospital.

I looked back and saw Mom standing where she was, with no expression on her face.

At the hospital, the doctor gave me a fever-reducing shot.

Dad held me and sat in the hallway, tears falling down his face.

"I'm sorry, Maria. I didn't protect you."

I wanted to tell Dad it was not his fault, but my throat was too hoarse for me to speak.

When we got home late at night, I saw a familiar pink color in the trash can by the door.

It was my favorite stuffed doll, the little bunny I had slept with for three years.

It had been cut to shreds by scissors, cotton bursting out of its body, and one of its eyes had been dug out.

Mom stood in the living room, still holding those scissors in her hand.

"You're this old and still playing with childish things like this. How embarrassing."

But Mom, I was only eight this year.

I cried and tried to pick the doll back up.

Mom stepped on the doll's face and ground her foot down hard.

"Why are you crying? Only useless things cry."

I cried even harder.

I missed my bunny, and I missed the mom I used to have.

Dad shoved Mom away.

He crouched down, wiped away my tears, and said softly.

"Don't cry, Maria. Tomorrow I'll take you to buy a new one, one even prettier than this."

Mom crossed her arms and looked at Dad and me crouched on the floor.

"Go buy it, then. Go ahead and buy it. See if I won't throw the new one away too."

After saying that, she turned and walked into the room.

I grabbed Dad's shirt hem in fear, shook my head, and said.

"Dad, let's not buy one. I don't want a new doll anymore."

Dad picked me up with heartache and sighed.

"Okay, we won't buy one. Mom has been in a bad mood lately."

Soon, the first day of school arrived.

Dad took me to the school gate, crouched down, and said to me:

"Make more friends at school and try to be happy."

I nodded hard and held my backpack tightly.

Halfway through the second class, my homeroom teacher called me out of the classroom and said Mom was waiting for me at the school gate.

A small surge of hope rose in my heart.

Was Mom here to pick me up, or to bring me something?

I moved step by step to the school gate.

When Mom saw me, she pulled me toward the principal's office. "Process a transfer."

The principal froze, looked at me, then looked at Mom.

"Ma'am, the child has just enrolled..."

"I said process a transfer."

Mom's voice was very loud, drawing other teachers over to watch.

I tugged on the corner of her clothes and begged her in a small voice.

"Mom, I want to go to school here. I like the teachers and classmates here."

Mom shook off my hand.

I staggered and hit the file cabinet beside me.

My forehead struck the corner of the cabinet, and it hurt so much that tears flowed out.

Mom did not even look at me and only repeated to the principal, "Process a transfer."

The teachers around us all looked at us with strange eyes.

Mom ignored everything and dragged me outside by the arm.

The car drove for a long time, and when it stopped, there was a very run-down elementary school in front of me.

The paint at the school gate had all peeled off, and the playground was full of potholes.

"I've already completed the paperwork for you. From now on, you'll keep going to school here."

Mom pointed at the shabby school gate.

I hugged her leg and begged her while crying, "Mom, I don't want to go to school here. Please."

She pushed me to the ground.

My whole body fell into the muddy water at the school gate, my uniform got dirty, and my knee was scraped open.

Several students passing by pointed at me and burst into laughter.

"Look at that idiot!"

"She's so gross."

"Her mom doesn't want her anymore."

I lifted my head, and through my blurry tears, I saw her back as she left.

She left without looking back, leaving me sitting alone in the muddy water, crying.

The students here were savage.

They mocked my old uniform that had been washed pale, stole my lunch, and threw my homework notebook into puddles.

I did not dare cry, and I did not dare fight back.

Because Mom had said that tears were the most useless thing.

I learned to endure and learned to swallow all my grievances into my stomach.

That night, after Dad found out, he and Mom had a fierce argument.

The vases in the house were smashed all over the floor.

I hid behind my bedroom door and saw Dad angrily questioning Mom through the crack.

"Catherine, how can you be so cruel?"

"Do you have someone else outside? Is that why you're torturing Maria like this?"

Mom's voice was unusually calm.

"I don't. I just regret it."

"I regret giving birth to her."

Those words stabbed into my heart like a knife.

I covered my mouth and did not dare cry out loud.

So I was a mistake, an existence that made her regret.

I gently closed the door.

I lay in bed unable to sleep, Mom's words echoing over and over in my ears.

The next morning, I sat up in bed, my eyes dry and sore.

Out of habit, I fumbled around beside the bed, wanting to hug my fluffy Ayuna.

But I felt nothing.

It was not on the bed, and it was not under the bed.

Ayuna, the kitten I had raised for two years, was gone.

"Ayuna? Ayuna!"

I searched the whole house, went through every cabinet, lay on the floor and looked under the bed, and shouted until my throat went hoarse.

Mom walked out of the kitchen, holding a glass of water, her expression indifferent.

She pointed out the window.

On the lawn downstairs, a half-grown stray dog was holding a clump of white fur covered in dirt and blood in its mouth.

"I'm allergic to cat hair, so I threw it down."

My mind went completely blank.

I rushed to the window and saw Ayuna's small body lying on the ground, motionless.

It would never rub its fluffy head against my cheek again.

It would never quietly lick away my tears when I cried again.

I wanted to curse at her, but my throat was blocked, and I could not make a sound.

I rushed over and swept the glass from her hand onto the floor.

Mom slapped me to the ground.

"Look at you. You're attacking me over a cat?"

She crouched down and looked at me irritably.

"I'm telling you, in this house, anything that annoys me, I can throw out."

"That includes the people and things that make you cry, and it includes you too."

I was so scared that I did not dare cry anymore, and I did not dare make trouble anymore.

That night, after Dad came home, he saw my swollen red eyes and pulled me into his arms.

He wrapped me tightly in his arms, and the force felt like he was searching for something to hold him up.

He let out a long sigh, as if he had made some important decision.

"From now on, I will always be by your side."

On Christmas Day, the school organized a performance show, and my teacher chose me to be the host.

I jumped up with joy.

After I got home, I kept the news carefully hidden.

I only practiced secretly in front of the mirror when no one was around.

"Dear teachers, dear classmates, hello, everyone..."

I practiced again and again.

I thought that as long as I performed well enough, as long as I was outstanding enough and became Mom's pride.

Then maybe Mom would not throw me away like she threw away Ayuna, and maybe she would love me again.

On the day of the show, I stood onstage in my school uniform.

Dad had specially asked for leave to come watch my performance, and he sat in the first row.

He made a cheering gesture at me, and my heart felt warm.

When it was my turn to announce the next performance.

"Next, please enjoy the dance..."

I saw Mom carrying a white plastic bucket in her hand, walking toward me step by step.

I froze, not understanding what she was going to do.

"Mom?" I called tentatively.

She did not answer me.

Under the eyes of all the teachers and students in the school, she walked up to me and raised the bucket in her hand.

A bucket of ice water poured down from the top of my head.

My hair stuck to my face, my vision blurred, and my whole body was soaked.

Whispers rose from below the stage.

"Look at her. She looks so stupid!"

"What is her mom doing? That's so weird! Why would she treat Maria like that?"

Mom's voice rang out.

"Your hosting is a complete mess. Go home and be embarrassing there."

Dad rushed onto the stage and took off his suit jacket to wrap me up.

He held me very tightly, and I could feel his body trembling.

"Catherine, are you even human?"

Dad carried me through the chaotic crowd.

The teachers and school leaders tried to come forward, but Dad's icy gaze forced them back.

He stuffed me into the car and did not glance at Mom as she chased after us.

When we got home, Dad brought up divorce.

"I'm taking Maria with me."

He flung a document out of his briefcase and slammed it onto the coffee table, a divorce agreement.

That document made Mom's body shake violently.

But she quickly straightened her back, her face cold.

"Fine. Take her away."

"I won't pay a cent in child support."

She picked up a pen and signed the divorce agreement.

I saw that the hand holding the pen was shaking badly, almost unable to hold onto it.

After signing, she threw the pen down, turned around, and rushed into the bathroom.

Immediately after, I heard the sound of vomiting from inside.

The tiny bit of satisfaction that had risen in my heart because of her signature was shattered by that vomiting sound.

I wanted to go forward and check on her, but my feet felt nailed to the floor.

Dad packed our luggage.

Two suitcases stood in the entryway.

He crouched down. "Maria, we're leaving tomorrow."

I nodded, but for some reason, panic stirred in my heart.

Late at night, I woke up thirsty and went downstairs to drink water.

I saw Mom sitting alone in the living room, completely still.

I ignored her and walked toward the kitchen.

After I filled the glass, I turned around and prepared to go upstairs.

"You're not allowed to leave." Mom spoke in a hoarse voice.

I pretended not to hear and kept walking upstairs.

Rapid footsteps sounded behind me, and Mom grabbed my arm.

"You're not allowed to go anywhere!"

I struggled desperately and cried out for Dad.

"Mom, let go of me. You're hurting me!"

She grabbed me even harder and threw me to the side.

My knee hit the corner of the coffee table, sending a sharp pain through me.

During the struggle, something flew out of her pocket.

It rolled to my feet, and it was a silver pendant with a glowing screen.

On it was a red number that kept jumping.

[Life Value: 59]

While she was not paying attention, I picked up the pendant in one grab and clutched it tightly in my palm.

"Listen to me carefully."

Mom grabbed my hair and forced me to lift my head and look at her.

"Your dad wants to take you away, right? The two of you think I'm dead, right?"

I shook my head while crying.

"I didn't. I didn't think that."

She let go, and I fell heavily to the floor.

"You didn't? Then why are you leaving me?"

Mom crouched down and pinched my face.

"Do you think I'm a failure as a mom? Do you hate me?"

I did not dare speak.

Her grip grew tighter and tighter.

"Talk!"

"It hurts, Mom. It hurts."

I was in so much pain that I could only squeeze out a few words.

She suddenly let go and turned to rush into the kitchen.

When she came back out, there was a stick in her hand.

"You want to leave, right? Then I'll break your legs first."

She raised the stick and swung it down at my legs.

I screamed in fear and rolled to the side.

The stick hit the coffee table, making a huge sound.

Dad woke up in shock and rushed downstairs in his pajamas, and when he saw this scene, his eyes turned red.

"Catherine, you're crazy."

He lunged over to snatch the stick from Mom's hand, and the two of them started wrestling.

Mom cried and screamed.

"She can't leave me. I gave birth to her. If she leaves, she'll die. What right does she have to leave with you?"

Dad snatched the stick away and threw it aside.

He picked me up and checked my injuries.

"Maria, are you okay? Where does it hurt?"

I pointed to my bleeding knee and my face that had been pinched red.

Dad's expression became very ugly.

"Catherine, do you still have even a little bit of what a mother should be?"

Mom collapsed onto the floor, her hair disheveled.

"I just want her to stay. I just won't let her leave."

"She is my daughter, and I have the final say."

Dad carried me upstairs.

"We're already divorced. Tomorrow morning, we're moving out."

Mom screamed behind us.

"Try leaving. If you leave, Maria really will die."

Dad did not take her words to heart.

After we returned to the room, Dad treated my wounds, and his hands were shaking.

"I'm sorry, Maria. Tomorrow we'll go stay at a hotel first."

My heart felt both chaotic and empty, and I did not know whether I should feel sad or scared.

After Dad left, I locked the door, lay against it, and listened for movement outside.

The living room was very quiet, so Mom must have gone back to her room.

I opened my palm, and the number on the pendant had become 60.

My eyes widened, and I could not believe it.

What was this thing?

Why did the number increase when Mom hit me?