hapter 1
My mom has three daughters: her baby, her sweetheart, and me–her punching bag.
While she dotes on my two older sisters, all I’ve ever gotten from her is fists and fury.
I once thought I wasn’t her real kid. I even stole a strand of her hair for a DNA test.
The results? Yeah, I’m hers–blood and bone.
Just as she was about to hit me again, my grandmother couldn’t bear to watch and stepped in, Mom showed her a video on her phone. After watching it, Grandma immediately went from defending me to screaming, “Beat her to death!”
Same thing happened with Grandpa.
One look at that video, and he was begging Mom to kill me too.
I really don’t understand.
Why does everyone want me dead?
What exactly is in that video on my mother’s phone?
“Still breathing, huh?”
“Next time I’ll make damn sure you don’t wake up!”
These were the first words I heard when I came to–my mother’s hollow eyes staring down at me, black and bottomless.
This made hospital visit number twenty. All courtesy of the woman who gave birth to me.
And her reason this time? I’d spilled a few drops of coffee on kitchen counter.
Sounds like ridiculous, but I swear to God, that’s all it took.
I stared back at her, searching those dead eyes for even a flicker of the maternal instinct that normal mothers supposedly have.
Nothing. Just pure disgust. Like she was pissed I was still taking up space in her world.
My mother has hated my guts since d
In my
one.
earliest memories, all she gave me was beating and scolding.
Meanwhile, my two older sisters might as well be living in a different universe. They get whatever they want, whenever they want it.
My mother would affectionately cook all sorts of delicious meals for my two older sisters, but when it came to me, all I was usually left with was stale,
hard bread.
Even if I’d only managed a few painful bites, she’d snatch my plate away, muttering, “Would’ve done everyone a favor if you’d just starved to death.”
My sisters rocked American Eagle and Hollister while I wore hand–me–downs so faded and worn they belonged in a dumpster.
She even encouraged my sisters to treat me like garbage, rolling their eyes whenever I speak up.
For years, I thought maybe I wasn’t really hers. So I went CSI secretly, nabbed a strand of her hair and sent it for DNA testing.
But it turned out that I’m 100% her kid. Biologically speaking, anyway.
12:49
Burnt Beauty, Family Beasts
6.5%
Chapter 1
This messed me up bad.
I literally made a spreadsheet of possible reasons she might hate me.
Was I some living reminder of my dad cheating?
After low–key stalking my own father for weeks, I concluded he was basically Ward Cleaver–no skeletons in his closet.
So I just… existed. Took the beatings. Year after year.
During this hellish childhood, I tried running to my grandparents for help.
Initially, Grandma was horrified. “This is an abomination!” she had yelled at my mother. “What kind of monster nearly kills her own daughter?”
Mom didn’t even bother arguing. She just pulled out her iPhone, tapped the screen a few times, and showed Grandma some video.
After watching whatever the hell was on that phone, Grandma’s face went from concerned to terrified. She stopped defending me and instead hissed at my mother, “Beat her to death! She shouldn’t be alive!”
Same thing happened with Grandpa. One look at that video, and he went from protective to practically begging my mother to end my life.
Every single person I’ve reached out to has seen that damn video, and without fail, they’ve all had the same reaction: kill her.
Even my sisters just stand there with icy expressions whenever Mom uses me as a punching bag, like they’re all just waiting for the day she finally finishes me off.
I really don’t understand, why is this happening?
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12:49
