My mother is an extreme misogynist, even toward me, her own daughter.

She's wanted to kill me since the day I was born. She hits me if I wear lip gloss, wear a dress, or even get close to my father.

Before sitting for my SATs, she spreads rumors about me trying to seduce my father. Ultimately, she pushes me so hard that I jump from the 15th floor.

This pleases her to no end.

A nurse at the hospital happily took me from the obstetrician and announced to my mother, "It's a girl! Her skin is fair and glowing—she'll definitely grow up beautiful!"

When Mom heard her words, her tired expression immediately changed. She suddenly grabbed the young nurse's hair before slapping her a few times.

The entire hallway echoed with Mom's scolding.

"You witch! Did you secretly swap out my son? I ate so much salty food! How could it not be a boy?"

Thankfully, Dad's younger sister, Aunt Grace, reacted quickly. She stopped Mom and called Dad, telling him to come over. The matter was only settled after that.

Because of the phone call, Mom didn't hesitate to show Aunt Grace her displeasure.

When Mom's health eventually improved, Dad took her home to rest. Aunt Grace, still worried, came to see me.

My cries inside the room were so weak they were almost inaudible. Meanwhile, Dad slowly fed Mom the bowl of freshly made chicken broth he was holding.

"Liam, I'm telling you, you will only love me in this life. You can't hold her, and you can't kiss her!"

After a moment, Dad quietly responded, "Yes, dear."

The warm, golden sunlight streamed into the room. However, the scene, which looked warm and harmonious, made Aunt Grace break into a cold sweat.

Speaking of which, Dad did keep his promise. At least, from what I could remember, we never had any physical contact.

Even so, Mom didn't spare me.

When I was seven, I had just returned home after walking three miles when Mom slapped me across the face. The reason? She had found my essay in my composition book titled "My Father".

"You're already learning such filthy things at such a young age! Who taught you this?" Mom shouted, waving the book in my face.

Failing to understand what she meant, I could only desperately search for my dad in the room. But all that awaited me was a beating.

After that day, Mom handled everything related to school. She would even tell my teachers that I didn't have a father.

I would never forget the smug, possessive look on her face as she said such things.

As I grew older, Mom began complaining to the elderly people in our neighborhood. "What terrible luck! My daughter is a shameless woman! The only thing she's learned growing up was seducing men!"

Wherever I went, people gossiped behind my back, but I had gotten used to it.

That was until a family of three moved in next door. They were a kind family. Every time Mom kicked me out, they would take me in. Jenny Davis, the daughter who was a few years older than me, would even share some snacks with me.

To me, the Davises was one of the few rays of hope in my bleak life.

But fate didn't favor me for long.

One day, I was waiting outside the door for Mom to finish playing poker. Jenny saw me standing outside and kindly brought over a chair, chatting with me while we waited for my mom.

As I excitedly chatted with Jenny about school life, I didn't even notice the shadow looming behind me. I was still smiling when I turned and saw Mom walking out.

Seeing my happy expression, she didn't think twice to slap me across the face.

That slap sent me crashing to the ground, and I even saw stars. The metallic taste of blood spread through my mouth as my front tooth wobbled from the force.

"You skank! You always look dead at home! What are you talking about so happily now? Is she teaching you how to seduce men?"

Her words were so vile that all the neighbors came out to watch the commotion. However, not a single person stepped in to stop her. Perhaps, to them, I was the scum trying to seduce my own father as Mom had claimed.

Jenny stood frozen in shock.

Her mother rushed out when she heard the noise. Seeing my pitiful state, she instinctively moved to help me up.

But Mom yanked me right in front of her. She shouted, "Were you the one who had your daughter lead my daughter astray? Are you trying to help her seduce my husband? You're all trash!"

The force of her tug made me stumble. I desperately lowered my head to hide my humiliation.

Yet Mrs. Davis stepped in front of me, shielding me with her frail frame. I saw the pity and guilt reflecting in her eyes.

"What are you talking about? What kind of mother are you to say something like that about your own child?"

Mrs. Davis used her frail body to shield me as she tried to reason with Mom to make her back down.

But Mom was never one to be reasoned with. Sneering, she gave me a cold glance that sent chills down my spine.

As she raised her hand, Mrs. Davis still stood in front of me, perhaps unable to believe that Mom would resort to violence against her. But I knew better. Over the years, Mom had hit more women than I could count.

The thought of Mrs. Davis' gentle, refined face bearing scars because of me made my heart shudder. So before Mom's slap could land, I rushed toward her decisively.

It was the first time I ever fought back against my mom.

Though all I did was tightly grab her arm, it led to an even more violent beating. In the chaos, my forehead struck a nearby rusted railing, and blood immediately gushed out.

Startled by the sight, our neighbors slammed their doors shut in fear.

Even so, Mom didn't stop. She even pushed Mrs. Davis to the ground. Jenny stood to the side, crying hysterically.

Hearing my dad's footsteps, I tried to call for help, but I was too weak to make any sound. Later, the door was shut without a moment's hesitation.

During this time, Mrs. Davis kept pleading for me. She started by blaming them and eventually compromised.

"We're already preparing to move away and will never appear in front of you again! Can you please spare the child?"

I barely managed to look up, only to see Jenny's face filled with terror, while Mrs. Davis' face was streaked with tears.

I didn't know if Mom agreed with Mrs. Davis or simply got tired of hitting me, but she tossed me to the ground like trash and turned to go back into the house.

After that, I never saw the Davises again.

Before they left, Jenny gave me a few small gifts. I found a spot to hide them away, but I never could bring myself to use them.

Even though their family moved away, Mom's hatred toward me remained. The older I grew, the more she despised me.

Recently, Mom's gaze toward me carried an even more calculating look. It was as if I wasn't her daughter but a rival trying to steal her husband.

Being stared at by her like that sent chills down my spine, but thankfully, I found solace at school.

Through all these years, despite countless times I thought of giving up, seeing Tiana at school always comforted me. It felt like all the suffering I endured was just so I could meet someone as angelic as her.

Tiana Thumel was my best friend at school. She didn't know about my family situation, but every time she saw the bruises on my face, she always came over to give me a hug.

"Pain, pain, go away. Cheer up, Marianne," she'd say.

Those simple phrases and warm embrace were the source of all my strength.

Because I was efficient and a good student, my homeroom teacher, Mr. Ronald Bloom, thought highly of me.

I always kept Mrs. Davis' parting words in mind—study hard. I firmly believed that if I worked hard enough, I could one day escape that hellish place and the devil that was my mother.

Then came my senior year of high school as I turned 18.

Mr. Bloom held my exam paper and patted me on the shoulder with satisfaction. "Not bad. If you keep this up, you shouldn't have any problem getting into a prestigious university near home!"

When the results of the third mock exam came out, I was still solidly in the top ten of my grade.

Thrilled, Mr. Bloom took me and a few other classmates to have a meal on the second floor of the cafeteria.

After the meal, I trailed far behind the others as we left, walking alone.

Only the heavens knew how happy I was—I was practically bursting with joy. But after years of repression, I found it impossible to smile.

When I thought about how I would finally be able to leave in just 20 days, my first reaction was to cry.

"Marianne, don't put too much pressure on yourself. You have a long road ahead," Mr. Bloom said, stopping at some point. Perhaps he had sensed my emotions and was trying to comfort me.

At that moment, Tiana came to walk home with me. Her vibrant energy seemed to shine as she waved to me from a distance.

Somewhere deep inside, a small seed seemed to sprout. Maybe, just maybe, if I could endure a little longer, I too could be like Tiana.

I would have a bright future and a clear and open path ahead.

When I returned home that night, I saw Mom sitting in the living room again. The all-too-familiar scene made my heart skip a beat.

As I quickly tried to head to my room, Mom grabbed my hair from behind.