When I was three years old, my parents became infamous in our social circle as a mutually destructive couple for a misunderstanding that led them to cheat on each other. To get revenge on each other, they didn’t hesitate to hurt me just to hurt one another.

Over the next five years, my mother beat me until my bones broke three times. My father “lost” me on purpose five times. And once, during one of their arguments, they threw me straight into the ocean.

Eventually, they grew tired of that life, but instead of stopping, they changed the game. They got divorced, and each of them adopted a new child, showering them with affection as if it were some kind of competition

As for me? I became the unwanted piece of trash. The only time I mattered was when they thought of each other, and they needed someone to take their anger out on.

The only thing that kept me going was a small locket pendant they gave me when I was born. Engraved on it were the words: peace and joy. It was the only source of comfort I had.

That was until I turned ten and someone tried to take this last piece of something that felt like it belonged to me away from me. I fought back with everything I had, and for that, I was beaten until my spleen ruptured.

By the time my parents arrived, the ground was soaked in blood. However, their faces twisted with disgust.

“Daisy, how did you end up like this? You’re just as disgusting as your father.”

“What did you say? Say that again! Just look at her, dressed like that. If anything, she’s just as shameless as you!”

My cries for help were drowned out by their argument. My body grew heavier and heavier, and before I realized it, the world went quiet. They finally stopped arguing, too.

My whole body trembled from the pain. Blood kept spilling from the corner of my mouth, but my parents were still arguing. Not one of them looked at me.

I lay on the ground, struggling to lift my head as I looked toward Mom. My voice came out broken, uneven.

“Mom… It hurts so much. Can you take me to the hospital?”

She frowned in disgust and kicked me farther away.

“Stay away from me! You’re filthy and disgusting! It’s just a tiny injury, and you’re asking to go to the hospital? You’re just as dramatic as those women your dad messes around with!”

Beside us, Dad’s face darkened with anger. He strode straight toward her, as if I didn’t even exist, his leather shoe crushing down on my hand as he passed.

“Claire, just look at yourself, acting like a shrew. Every woman out there is gentler than you. I bet you’re just jealous! If you weren’t rotten to the core, why would Daisy lie through her teeth at such a young age?”

Mom let out a cold laugh. She was clearly mocking him, but her gaze swept over me, inch by inch.

“Oh, please. What does her lying have to do with me? Look at her, short and ugly. She got all of that from you.”

Dad snapped. In the next second, he grabbed my hair and yanked my head up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“From me? Take a good look at her. Doesn’t she look like you, too? You’re her mother!”

Mom trembled with rage and hurled her handbag straight at him.

“Shut up! Who’s her mother? That little b*st*rd has nothing to do with me! She has your last name, doesn’t she? Then she’s your problem. From now on, whether she lives or dies, don’t come bothering me about it!”

She then turned to leave, but Dad grabbed her wrist.

“Stop right there! Why should I clean up the mess you don’t even want? You’re the one who gave birth to her!”

They went back and forth, tossing me between them like a ball. Slowly, the light in my eyes began to fade. Enduring the pain, I pushed myself up from the ground and forced a smile, trying to please them.

“Mom, Dad, look, I’m being good. I won’t go to the hospital anymore. Don’t abandon me.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Dad’s eyes. He seemed a little softer as he reached out and patted my head.

“Daisy, be good. Your sister Yvonne is sick. I need to go to the hospital to take care of her. You go home first, okay? I’ll come see you when I have time.”

Mom immediately sneered, exposing his lie. “When you have time? I doubt you’ll ever have time in this lifetime.”

“You just want to dump this little bitch on me so you can go off and enjoy yourself, don’t you? I’m telling you right now, no way that’ll happen! It’d be best if she died here today. That way, neither of us has to deal with her ever again!”

Their cruel words cut into me like knives, stabbing straight through my heart. They kept arguing, but my mind had gone blank. I couldn’t hear anything anymore.

Using the last bit of strength I had, I staggered toward home. In the end, I collapsed onto the small bed my parents had bought for me together when I was little and slowly closed my eyes.

My tears soaked the pillow. The pain was so overwhelming that all I could do was curl into myself as I repeated the words I remembered in Mom’s voice over and over again in my head, trying to comfort myself.

Go to sleep, Daisy. Once you’re asleep, it won’t hurt anymore.

…

Maybe heaven really heard my prayer, because when I woke up, the pain was gone. However, my body felt strangely weightless, floating in midair. I understood immediately then that I was dead, and my soul, seemingly pulled by some invisible force, drifted until I found myself beside Mom.

It was late at night. After parting on bad terms, she and Dad had gone their separate ways. She had returned to the house she bought after the divorce—the one she prepared when she adopted Becca. It wasn’t especially large, but it was decorated warmly.

I saw Becca sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a fuzzy bear-print pajama set. Mom, the same woman who was always aloof, was kneeling on the floor, putting on her socks for her tenderly. I stared at the scene in shock, feeling my eyes burn. Thinking back, Mom would fly into a rage even if I so much as touched her hands.

Last year, at Grandma’s birthday party, I had worn a pair of shoes that didn’t fit properly, and when Becca tripped me on purpose, I nearly fell. Instinctively, I grabbed onto Mom’s sleeve to steady myself, but she shoved me away immediately and slapped me hard across the face.

She looked at me with pure disgust, her sharp voice crushing what little dignity I had left.

“Who said you could touch me? Your dad sleeps around with who knows how many women. Who knows if you’re carrying some disease just like him!”

I stood there, helpless, tears pooling in my eyes. Grandma sighed from the side. She gently wiped my tears and tried to comfort me, saying that Mom was just a germaphobe and that that was why she didn’t like being touched. However, I knew that wasn’t true because Mom only rejected me but never Becca. Even when Becca’s hands were dirty and sticky, Mom never showed the slightest bit of disgust. Instead, she would hold her hands gently, patiently cleaning away every bit of dirt. That kind of tenderness was something I didn’t even dare to dream about.

After putting her socks on, Mom climbed onto the bed, pulled Becca into her arms, and picked up a storybook. The book was worn and creased. It had clearly been read many times. So, without me knowing, Mom had been reading her bedtime stories every night.

Just like that, she sat there, quietly telling stories for over an hour. Even when Becca asked silly, childish questions, she answered each one patiently, without the slightest hint of annoyance.

Watching it, I felt both envious and heartbroken. I had always thought Mom simply didn’t like talking. After all, sometimes all it took was for me to say a few extra words, and she would explode in anger, ordering me to shut up. Sometimes, she would even take out a needle and thread, saying she’d sew my mouth shut so I could never speak again. Now, however, I finally understood it wasn’t that she didn’t like talking; she just didn’t want to talk to me.

After Becca fell asleep, Mom put on an apron. Even though it was already late into the night, she began bustling around again. It wasn’t until I saw a delicate little cake slowly take shape under her hands that I realized tomorrow was Becca’s birthday.

I watched as she decorated the room and then brought out the gifts she had prepared. A bitter ache spread through my chest. So this was what birthdays were supposed to be like—eating a cake your mother made herself and receiving gifts she had chosen just for you.

However, I was her real daughter. So why, on my birthday, couldn’t she even give me a kind look? Why did she throw away the cake Grandma bought for me and feed it to stray dogs instead of letting me have a bite?

Just because I was Dad’s daughter, she decided I didn’t deserve anything. I didn’t deserve a birthday. I didn’t deserve cake. I didn’t even deserve something as basic as feeling happy or sad. Whenever I failed to meet her expectations, she would grab that iron rod and beat me until I was covered in injuries, only stopping when something broke. In my short ten years of life, seven of them were spent like this.

…

When Becca woke up, she saw everything Mom had prepared overnight and lit up with excitement. She rushed into Mom’s arms, clinging to her and whining sweetly, asking her to make a wish and blow out the candles together. Mom smiled and agreed. After the wish was made, she said she had a special gift for her.

My eyes widened. I watched, frozen, as she took out the locket, the one I had risked my life to protect.

How did it end up with Mom? Wasn’t it stolen yesterday by that stranger?

The next second, Becca’s eyes sparkled. She grabbed the locket and kissed Mom on the cheek.

“Thank you, Mom! All I did was mention that I liked Daisy’s lock, and you got it for me. You’re the best!”

Mom gently stroked her hair, a fond smile on her face.

“Of course, I’m the best. I’m your mother. Who else would I do this for?”

Only then did I understand that the man yesterday, the one who ambushed me on my way home from school, took my locket, and beat me until I could barely breathe, was sent by Mom.

I thought back to the day Becca first came to our house. The moment she saw the locket around my neck, she reached out to grab it without even asking.

Instinctively, I dodged. When she missed and fell to the ground, Mom immediately rushed over with concern, helping her up and holding her, comforting her for the longest time. Yet, when it came to me, she didn’t listen to a single word of my explanation. Instead, she swung that thick iron rod at the back of my knees, forcing me to kneel and apologize to Becca.

Through my tears, I told her I could give Becca anything except the locket. That locket was proof that my parents once loved me. It was the only thing keeping me alive and the last source of comfort I had in this world.

Mom sneered. “From this day on, everything you have belongs to Daisy. She’s my daughter now. You’re just her little servant. If you upset her again, just see what I’ll do to you.”

My eyes met Becca’s, where she stood behind Mom’s protection. The mocking look in her eyes made me want to disappear, but still, I nodded.

Mom, I listened to you and became the servant you wanted, so why couldn’t I earn even a little bit of your love? Even my death was caused by your hands.

I watched as Becca happily put on the locket that once belonged to me. By then, my tears had almost run dry. For the first time in my life, I kept asking the same question, over and over: if she never loved me, why did she give birth to me? Why bring me into this world just to suffer?

Alas, she couldn’t hear me, and even if she could hear me, she probably wouldn’t answer.

Suddenly, I found myself wondering that when Mom realized I had died alone while she was happily celebrating her adopted daughter’s birthday, what would be her expression? Would she feel sad? Would she feel guilty, or would she remain just as indifferent as before?

Over the next two days, as soon as Mom got off work, she rushed home to be with Becca. The princess dresses I wouldn’t even dare to dream of? She bought them for Becca. The parent-teacher meetings I had begged her to attend countless times? Becca only had to mention it once, and Mom showed up right on time. Even something as small as riding a Ferris wheel, Mom forced herself to go up with her without a second thought, despite her fear of heights.