I killed a man.

He was my so-called father.

Blood splattered across my mother's face.

For a moment, she seemed stunned, but then her eyes hardened with resolve.

She ran down the hill, shouting, "Help! Ryman, he fell while drunk and died!"

When no one else was around, my mother would often hold me close, whispering in my ear.

She would talk about the happy life she once had, about my biological father whom I’d never met, and about the vast, beautiful world outside.

She would tell me that one day, we would escape—escape back to our real home.

And then, we would make sure everyone in this village paid the price.

They would spend the rest of their lives behind bars.

She would do whatever it took.

As a child, I didn’t fully understand, but I knew my mother was the most important person in my life, and I needed to protect her.

"Mom, let’s run away!"

I whispered firmly in her ear.

She gently stroked the top of my head, "There will be a chance, one day."

She tried to escape with me multiple times, but the last one ended in failure.

To keep our secret safe, I killed that man.

He fell to the ground with his eyes rolled back.

Blood poured from the back of his head, and soon, he was silent.

My mother froze for a moment.

Then, she quickly snapped into action, tossing the stone from my hand into the nearby river.

She began to run down the hill, crying out, "Help! Ryman Holt, he fell while drunk and died!"

As my mother's cries echoed, villagers hurried toward us.

An elderly woman with graying hair collapsed onto Ryman’s body, wailing in agony.

"My son... how could you die like this?"

Suddenly, she looked up, and her venomous gaze shot straight at me and my mother.

Martha's shrill voice cut through the air, "Tell me! Did you kill my precious son?"

My mother shielded me with her body, her bruised face swollen, her eyes red from tears.

She sobbed, "It was Ryman himself, he fell drunk... it has nothing to do with us."

I wailed, "Dad! Dad, wake up..."

Some onlookers chimed in, "Isn’t it that little girl who brought disaster upon Ryman?"

Others quickly agreed, "Yes, yes! It must be her. She should’ve been killed when she was born, or Ryman wouldn’t have fallen and died!"

I wiped away my tears, glaring at the two busybodies, and cursed them out.

"You two old hags! Did your tongues grow in the wrong place? Always running your mouths! Keep talking and see if I don’t slap the both of you!"

They flinched, avoiding my gaze, their muttered words growing softer.

"What a little savage," one of them muttered.

Martha, as though reminded, lunged toward me, her face twisted in fury, "You damn little bastard..."

But she was stopped by her eldest son, Cyrus Holt.

Cyrus grabbed Martha’s arm and whispered something in her ear.

Martha's expression softened, and she shot me one last glare.

But she didn’t come any closer.

Cyrus’ eyes greedily flickered between me and my mother.

A chill ran down my spine, and I tightened my grip on my mother's hand.

While she cried, she subtly shielded me with her entire body.

I was born in a poor, ignorant mountain village.

Here, if a firstborn is a girl, she is drowned at birth and buried in the steps at the entrance, sealed in with mud and sand.

I survived because my mother fought to keep me alive.

My mother was a wealthy woman who was trafficked here.

One day, while she was out, she was forcibly dragged into a car by human traffickers and sold to this village.

At that time, I was already growing in her womb.

The man who bought her was a drunkard from the village named Ryman.

He was immediately captivated by her beauty and insisted on buying her, arguing with his family until they agreed.

Here, my mother endured unspeakable humiliation, and at times, she wanted to end her life.

That was until I was born.

She told me that my arrival saved her; I was the light of her life.

She often held me close in the quiet of the night, singing the lullabies from her hometown.

"Wind is gentle, the moon is bright, the crickets chirp...”

Her embrace was so warm, and her tears so hot.

She whispered softly, "Serena, we don’t belong here. One day, we will go home."

Serena—that was the name my mother gave me.

A name filled with her longing for her family.

However, my birth brought my mother disaster.

I was not Ryman’s child, and my appearance bore no resemblance to his.

When I was three months old, someone teased Ryman, saying that I was so beautiful and pure, that I didn’t resemble any member of the Holt family.

Upon hearing these whispers, Ryman came home, picked me up, and scrutinized me.

When he concluded I wasn’t his child, he raised me high and was about to slam me onto the ground.

My mother threw herself at him, tearing at him and cursing, before she managed to snatch me back.

I survived.

But my mother’s nightmare had only just begun.

Ryman believed my mother was a woman for everyone, and every day when he came home drunk, he would beat and curse her.

As far back as I can remember, my mother would grit her teeth, curl up to protect her head, and endure the storm of fists that rained down on her.

I was small and weak, unable to stop the brutality.

Each time, I could only throw myself at her, trying to shield her with my tiny body.

Seeing her battered and bruised, my hatred for Ryman grew deeper.

And in my heart, the resolve to escape this place with my mother only strengthened.

After each beating, my mother had to drag her injured body to wash clothes, cook, and do chores for Ryman.

If she didn’t, she would be publicly humiliated and suffer even crueler insults in front of the whole village.

Her dreary life continued like this for seven years.

Until today.

My mother and I attempted to escape once again.

We didn’t make it far before Ryman found us.

Ignoring her pleas, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her down the hillside.

Every time my mother was beaten by Ryman, her body covered in bruises, an overwhelming rage surged within me.

I swore to protect her from Ryman’s cruelty, no matter the cost.

I followed closely behind, raising a stone, and threw it with all my strength at the back of his head.

Blood and brain matter exploded out.

Ryman was dead.

According to rural customs, those who die unexpectedly must remain in the house for seven days before burial.

Ryman was a slob in life, but in death, he lay neatly in his coffin.

I stared at his ugly, repulsive face, still twisted in death, and couldn’t help myself. I scooped up some of the dog shit from next door and smeared it across his face.

No one noticed.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, I secretly smiled, a touch of smugness in my expression.

People like him deserved to rot in the dirt forever, just like that dog shit.

The air was filled with the mournful wails of the villagers.

They hadn’t even known Ryman when he was alive, but now they cried as if they had lost a close relative.

Cyrus wailed loudly, but his eyes kept greedily sizing up my mom and me.

Martha, sharp-eyed, caught my smile before I could hide it and immediately screamed, “You little slut! Your father’s dead and you can still smile?”

She reached out to grab me.

My mother quickly pulled me close, tears in her eyes as she whispered, “Serena’s just a child. She doesn’t understand anything.”

Martha continued her tirade, still determined to teach me a lesson.

Cyrus grabbed her sleeve, giving it a gentle shake, as if signaling her to stop.

The commotion seemed to settle.

But my mother’s body was tense with fear.

I gripped her bony arm tightly and whispered, “Don’t worry, Mom. Serena will protect you.”

My mother hugged me even tighter, as if trying to bury me inside her very bones.

Once we were home, she locked every window and door with fervor.

She was acting as if we were about to face a great enemy.

In the dead of night, someone knocked violently on the wooden door.

I jolted awake.

My mother trembled as she held me.

The door was sturdy enough, and when the person couldn’t break in, they finally left.

We had just begun to relax when we heard footsteps circling the house, eventually stopping in front of the window.

The wooden window was weak, and it didn’t take long for the person to pry it open.

My mother clutched me, trying to escape.

A flash of lightning split the night sky, and I saw who it was—Cyrus!

“Don’t run, sister-in-law, I’m here to comfort you.”

His cruel grin sent shivers down my spine as he shoved us both onto the bed.

My mother screamed, “No! Get away!”

Before I could react, he yanked me by the collar and threw me outside.

The door slammed shut with a “bang,” leaving my mother and Cyrus alone inside.

My mother’s desperate cries echoed from the room, mixed with Cyrus’s vile curses.

I scrambled to my feet, pounding on the door with all my strength.

“You shameless, disgusting old pervert! Let go of my mother!”

I shouted every curse I knew at Cyrus.

The sky thundered, and the wind howled as rain began to pour down in torrents.

The rain drenched me, mixing with my tears and snot.

For the first time, I felt truly powerless, and I tasted the bitter sting of despair.

I don’t know how much time passed before my mother’s cries slowly ceased.

Morning came, and the rain finally stopped.