Ignoring her, I bolted out the door, tears streaming, as I screamed, "Murder, murder! Grandma's trying to kill me and Mom!"

Maybe because I looked downright terrifying, more and more people clustered at the village entrance.

"You little hellion, get back here!" Grandma chased after them with a broom, flashing a grin, "Don't mind her; she's just a typical rebellious kid."

Spotting Sarah Parker in the crowd, I collapsed toward her and cried out, "Director Parker, save me!"

Then, I blacked out.

Of course, I was only playing possum.

I could distinctly hear the crowd's voices condemning my grandmother.

"The Miller family is nothing but trouble."

"Exactly, Elizabeth is just a kid; how could she be so heartless?"

Grandma stood there, flushed and fuming, wanting to grab me, but Director Parker held her back.

Director Sarah Parker is the village's sole female leader. She climbed her way out of the mountains, the only local girl to get a college degree and return.

She'd say this was her home turf, and even though her clout was minimal, she aimed to turn things around.

I believe her influence is significant. Since her return, the villagers have warmed up to the idea of girls' education, cutting the dropout rate by more than half.

When my mom arrived, she was panting, her eyes bloodshot.

Director Parker took Grandma to the office for a stern talking-to, and Grandma didn't dare utter a peep in her presence.

"Middle school is mandatory. Denying her education is against the law."

"Elizabeth, education is your ticket out of these hills."

With Director Parker's help, I secured the textbook fees.

Standing in the classroom, clutching the textbooks, I realized the struggle it took to get here.

I was in my room going over next week's textbook content when my dad stormed in.

He burst into the room. "Elizabeth, I'm gone for a bit, and you're already crossing swords with Grandma, huh?"

Clearly, Grandma had played the victim first.

No wonder she's been bedridden since the afternoon.

This was what she was waiting for.

As for my dad, back when I was little, he'd cradle me in his arms, hold my mom's hand, and kiss me, saying, "My darling Elizabeth, you'll be the sweetheart of this village."

Mom and Dad were high school sweethearts, madly in love from the start.

Mom hailed from the big city. She ditched her family for love and married my dad, David Miller, without hesitation, bringing a dowry of over 200,000 dollars.

Over the years, Mom used her dowry to support my dad, Grandma, and Aunt Linda's family, and they treated her like gold.

After I came along, Mom fell ill and was bedridden for six months. Grandma siphoned off the remaining 100,000 dollars of the dowry under the guise of medical expenses.

Dad handed his modest paycheck to Grandma, claiming it was to help with family expenses.

I looked up and noticed he was clean-shaven and wearing black glasses, looking nothing like the last time he was home.

BANG!

He slammed the table. "What are you staring at? Cat got your tongue? I think all this reading's made you lose your marbles."

"Did you even ask me what happened? Would you believe me if I told you?" I stood my ground, unwilling to back down.

My mother stepped in and tugged at him, "If you have something to say, say it to me, but don't disrupt the kid's studying."

He waved his hand, and my mother staggered back, her back striking the sharp corner of the cabinet. She screamed in pain, then crouched down, curling into herself.

Mom stared at him, disbelief in her eyes. Dad had never laid a hand on her before, no matter the situation.

"Don't touch my mother." I shoved him away with all my might, but against an adult, I was like a feather trying to hold back a storm.

"Look at these bruises, then look at Mom's injuries," I said, rolling up my sleeves, my eyes brimming with tears, "What power do we have to bully Grandma? You're not fit to call yourself my father."

"Grandma calls Mom cursed every day. I can't even scrape together the 100 bucks for textbooks. Do you even care about us?"

His response was a slap across my face, the sting burning into my skin.

My words cut deep, humiliating him. He slammed the door on his way out.

I helped Mom onto the bed, and heard her whisper, "Elizabeth."

"Mom, let's just get you a divorce," I murmured.

She stroked my head with her cold hands, her face ashen, "Elizabeth, you don't understand."

I wrapped my arms around her, trying to warm her with my own body heat.

I might not understand everything, but I knew that if Mom stayed in the Miller family any longer, it could kill her.

After school, I didn't head home.

The mountain village was miles from town. I sat on a tractor, the bumpy road jostling the vehicle.

Following the path Mom once showed me, I found my way to Dad's workplace.

I hid behind a tree, needing to confirm just one thing: whether he had a mistress.

This time he came back, he was unusually polished, a faint perfume clinging to him.

It was a scent I recognized—only older girls wore it when they visited from the city.

Under the harsh summer sun, even in the shade of the tree, sweat soaked through my shirt.

A man in a white shirt stepped out of the office—it was Dad.

Beside him was a woman in a red dress, her hair beautifully styled, clutching his arm.

A wave of bitterness surged through me, tears hitting the dirt, unbidden.

Even though I'd suspected it, the reality stung, leaving me angry, resentful, and heartbroken.

From then on, he was no longer my father.

When I got home, I stopped taking orders.

When Susan tried to scribble in my textbook, I locked my door and kicked her out, ignoring her tears.

Grandma demanded I wake at four to cook; I slept until seven, then grabbed my bag and dashed to school.

The beatings and scoldings grew worse.

After each one, I'd run to Mom, bruised and battered, wiping away tears.

"Mom, I just want to be like Susan, is that so wrong?"

"Mom, it hurts."

"Mom, I need to get out of here."

Eventually, I stopped talking about leaving.

All I could do was whisper in my sleep, "Mom, I want to die. Is this what I have to live for?"

I could feel her embrace tightening.

The woman in the red dress, Rebecca Turner, worked in the same office as David Miller.

Mom was doing laundry for the whole family, and I was fetching water.

Rebecca pushed open the gate and walked in, wearing that same red dress, now stretched over a slightly rounded belly.

"You're David's wife?" She looked down her nose at us, her fingers curling, "No wonder he's not into you."