My mom is terrified of being laughed at by others the most.

Whenever the holidays are here, she will keep repeating one sentence to me—"Don't go around embarrassing me."

When my relatives gather around and chat with each other, I accidentally knock a fruit platter over. Mom drags me over and slaps me on the spot.

At the holiday feast, I grab extra pieces of steak for myself. Mom responds by kicking my chair over.

When it's time for the holiday gifts to be distributed, my aunt, Gabriella Hall, has miscalculated the number of children present among the family. So, she has prepared one less gift for the occasion.

Mom doesn't hesitate to kick me out of the apartment, leaving me shivering in the cold corridor in just my indoor clothes.

The icy winds chill me to the bone. I keep slamming my palms on the front door while screaming and crying my apologies at Mom, and yet she remains unmoved and silent.

Instead, she turns to face Aunt Gabriella with an apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't raise my daughter well. It's only fair that you ridicule me."

What Mom doesn't know is that I get triggered whenever I hear the word "ridicule" thanks to her so-called parenting lessons. Whenever I hear that word, I want nothing more than to hurt myself uncontrollably.

So when I hear the word "ridicule" coming out of Mom's mouth through the front door, I turn on my heel quietly and begin making my way toward the bridge next to the neighborhood that's plunged into darkness.

The moment I jump from the bridge, the only thought I have is, "Mom, no one will ridicule you because of me this time."

Claire's First-Person POV

I hit the back of my head on the floor when the chair toppled over.

My vision darkened for a few seconds as I lay unmoving on the ground.

I wasn't dazed. I was just worried that Mom would think that I was just putting on an act if I got up too quickly. I didn't want her to think that the fall hadn't been nasty.

Our relatives whispered among themselves.

"Poor thing. She just took an extra piece."

"Did she have to punish her? It's Christmas Eve…"

My cousin, Amanda Crawford, was all smiles as she served herself a braised rib.

"She got what she deserved. She knows that Aunt Vera's biggest fear is being ridiculed, but she still acted out of line. She definitely deserves to be punished because of that."

I remained silent as I braced my hands on the floor and got back on my feet. I picked up the chair and sat down again.

Mom looked rather pleased by my reaction. She looked at our relatives and said, "We have to teach our children the proper rules. If I don't discipline her now, she'll be ridiculed in the future. She'll humiliate our entire family. See? She's behaving much better now after I punished her."

Her expression softened when she looked at Amanda. "Amanda's so mature. She never allows her parents to be ridiculed."

Amanda stuck her nose in the air as she shot a gleeful look at me. "You taught me well, Aunt Vera. I've always wanted to be your daughter. I'm not like a certain someone who doesn't know how lucky she is and keeps giving others chances to ridicule you."

My entire body trembled as they repeated the word "ridicule" over and over again.

I wasn't scared, but I felt like I was suffocating under their obsession of avoiding ridicule.

Mom's discipline took shape in the form of the bruises on my body and the chronic stress that seemed to have seeped into my very bones. Her concept of maturity was the way I had to pathetically control the way I breathed.

Her intense disciplinary methods caused me to be ostracized whenever we visited our relatives. No one dared to play with me because they were afraid that their own parents would follow Mom's example.

I huddled in a corner and clutched the hem of my clothes.

Most of our relatives had finished eating. They broke off into groups of twos and threes to sip tea and chat with each other.

I didn't dare move. I remained rooted to the spot, being a good daughter who didn't cause any trouble. I didn't want Mom to berate me for being immature. I didn't want her to be ridiculed by our relatives.

Amanda wandered over to my side when I was distracted. She lowered her voice and hissed, "You're nothing more than a burden, Claire Peterson. Aunt Vera is ridiculed everywhere she goes because of you."

Ridicule.

It was that word again.

My body shivered violently. I subconsciously dug my nails into my palm until I broke the skin. The blood that oozed out was wet and sticky.

My throat felt tight. I forced myself to sound calm as I retorted, "A burden? That's rich coming from someone whose parents don't love her."

Amanda's expression twisted in an instant.

Her parents got a divorce when she was still a child. Neither of them wanted her, preferring to start their own families.

As a result, Amanda was raised by Grandpa and Grandma. No one in the family dared to talk about this unhappy incident in front of her.

Amanda shoved me and shouted, "How dare you? I'm going to tell Aunt Vera what you said. I want you to be humiliated and ridiculed in front of everyone!"

"Go ahead," I said coldly.

My fingers trembled even more violently.

I felt like I was going to reach my breaking point soon.

…

Mom and I returned home after the party was over.

Mom was the one who broke the silence when we made it back to our empty home.

"Does the back of your head still hurt?"

I lowered my gaze and shook my head.

Truth be told, a terrible pain lanced through the back of my head whenever I moved it.

I was in so much pain, but I chose to lie. I didn't dare tell Mom that it hurt. I didn't want her to ridicule me.

Mom stared at me and sighed. She placed her fork down and approached me.

My back tensed as I dug my nails into my palms. Fear gripped my heart.

I was terrified that she was going to say something. I didn't want to hear her say that word again.

However, Mom simply kneeled down next to me and brushed her fingers gently along the back of my swollen head.

"I lived a tough life, Claire. There were a lot of children in my family, and your grandparents didn't like me. Eventually, I got to marry your father, but unfortunately, he died young."

Mom's eyes reddened. "I was constantly criticized when I was raising you by myself. Everyone was just biding their time, waiting for their chance to ridicule me. I just want to stick up for myself. I don't want to be trampled under anyone's feet again."

My body trembled when the word "ridicule" slipped past her lips.

Mom didn't notice anything amiss and continued, "You're my daughter. If you behave and follow the rules in front of other people, they'll praise me for raising you well. They won't ridicule me. Everything that I do is for our sake."

I could feel myself getting triggered at hearing that word over and over again.

I wanted to dig my nails into my palms again, but I was scared that Mom would notice. I could only clench my hands into tight fists to stop myself from trembling.

However, I couldn't stop the tears that streamed down my face.

Mom was stunned. She was just about to wipe my tears when I spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Amanda told me that I'm a burden to you. She said that you'll be ridiculed wherever you go because of me."

Mom's hand froze. Instead of wiping my tears, she delivered a hard slap across my face.

"What nonsense are you spouting? Amanda's so mature. She would never say such a thing! You, on the other hand, only know how to cause trouble. You keep giving people chances to ridicule me. You don't understand me at all!"

The sound of the slap had been loud and clear.

My head snapped to the side. My left cheek stung terribly, the burn intertwining with the painful throbbing coming from the back of my head.

There was a loud buzzing in my ears. I couldn't hear anything.

"Ridicule" was the only word that reverberated in my ears.

I dug my nails into my palms. Only the pain could drown out that word for a moment.

Mom was still ranting. Her voice trembled as she exclaimed, "Don't forget that I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into raising you. I limited my spending and saved up just to send you to school. I did that so that the others can't ridicule us. I did all of that for your sake!"

Her words didn't register in my mind.

I couldn't stop shaking. Stress, fear, and the throbbing pain from my hands mixed together, making me long for death.

In the past, my heart ached for her when I found out that she was living such a tough life. I thought that she was having a hard time because of my immaturity.

However, at that moment, I realized that I had been wrong.

Should she be allowed to hurt me in front of so many people just because she claimed that it was for my sake?

Should she be allowed to corner me into a dead end by using the word "ridicule" against me over and over again just because it was supposedly for my sake?

I would rather have nothing at all than be forced to accept her "kindness".

Mom rubbed a hand down her face after she was done scolding me. She regained her composure and said, "That's enough. Go to bed. We still have to visit our relatives tomorrow. Don't embarrass yourself anymore. Don't give them a chance to ridicule us."

It was that word again.

I dropped my head and silently returned to my room.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and dripped on the floor. My hands hung by my sides as I rubbed the bloodstains on my palms.

I was sick of living like that.

…

The next day, we dropped by my aunt, Gabriella Hall's home.

The living room was packed with people. Some were snacking and chatting while some were playing with the children.

The atmosphere was very lively.

I curled up in a corner of the couch, not daring to speak or move.

I was terrified of hearing that word from Mom again if she thought I was being embarrassing.

Soon, Aunt Gabriella began giving out gifts.

The room was filled with the sounds of joy and laughter as she handed the gifts to all the children.

I clutched the hem of my shirt as I stood at the very back of the group. An ominous feeling festered in my heart. I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

As expected, Aunt Gabriella's hands were empty when it was my turn. She was momentarily stunned before she awkwardly said, "I'm sorry, Claire. I miscounted the gifts and forgot to bring yours. I'll give you your present later, okay?"

I began trembling all over—not because I didn't receive a gift, but because I knew that Mom was going to lose her temper.

She was going to use that word again.

As I predicted, Mom's expression darkened before she furiously shouted at me in front of all our relatives.

"Get over here, Claire!"

I clutched the hem of my shirt as I padded over to her. "Aunt Gabriella said she miscounted the presents, Mom. She'll give one to me later," I explained in a small voice.

"Miscounted?" Mom spat, interrupting me. "You're the only one who didn't get anything. She was probably annoyed that you were trying to get one. Why must you be so greedy? You're so embarrassing! Will you only be satisfied when everyone ridicules me for raising such a greedy daughter?"

A wave of stress crashed into me.

I dug my nails into my arms and scratched myself until my skin turned raw and bloody. However, I didn't feel even an ounce of comfort.

Just then, Amanda tugged on the corner of Mom's shirt and said, "Aunt Vera, I saw Claire rummaging around Aunt Gabriella's bag earlier. I think she took something too. Perhaps she already took the present that was meant for her?"

All of our relatives turned their gazes on me. Their curious, wary, and mocking eyes felt like needles stabbing my heart.

I had nowhere to hide. I could tell that they actually believed that I was a thief.

Summoning all of my strength, I forced myself to speak. "You're lying! I didn't steal any presents!"

The words had just left my lips when Mom roared, "Claire Peterson!"

She stormed toward me until she was standing in front of me. She grabbed my bloody arm and hissed, "How dare you talk back to Amanda and lie in front of everyone? You have utterly humiliated me, allowing everyone to ridicule me! I have no choice but to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

The pain should have been excruciating as Mom dug her fingers into my wounds. But I couldn't feel anything.

"It's over," I thought to myself. "I won't be able to escape this time."

My arm hurt terribly as Mom dragged me out of the house.

Still, I tried to explain myself. "I didn't do it, Mom. Aunt Gabriella miscounted. Amanda is trying to frame me. I didn't do anything that would give them a chance to ridicule you."

"You didn't do it? Amanda saw you with her own two eyes! How dare you lie and say you didn't do anything?"

Freezing wind billowed into the house when Mom pulled the door open.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget today. You'll learn what it's like to be ridiculed by other people!"

Despite my hazy vision, I could see countless pairs of curious eyes watching us from the living room. I saw the corners of Amanda's lips curl up into a triumphant smile.

The word "ridicule" continued to reverberate in my ears like a curse that I couldn't escape from.

Mom shoved me out of the house even though I was just wearing a thin shirt.