Chapter 2

That night, as I pushed open the front door, I caught the familiar scent of dinner.

The living room was lit by a warm yellow light. Sophie was sitting at the dining table, with two servings of food in front of her.

I took off my shoes as quietly as possible and tried to hide my swollen right cheek and the bloodstain at the corner of my mouth in the shadows.

The moment I took a step, Sophie looked up.

“You’re back?”

Her voice was still stern, yet it carried a hint of barely perceptible concern.

“Does your face still hurt?”

I lowered my eyes, shook my head, walked to the other end of the table. Then, I sat down, and began eating small bites of the food.

The dishes, so appealing in color, aroma, and flavor, felt like torture once they reached my mouth. Every chew tugged at my facial muscles.

It hurt so much.

I decided to just swallow it whole.

Suddenly, Mom put down her cutlery and walked over.

My body stiffened instinctively, and the muscles in my back tensed.

But she simply crouched down beside me and reached out her hand. Her fingertips were cool to the touch as she gently brushed my swollen, burning cheek.

I flinched as if I had been electrocuted.

Her finger paused. Then, she let out a deep sigh.

“Stella, it hasn’t been easy for me to raise you all by myself.”

As she spoke, her eyes gradually teared up.

She shed the persona of the homeroom teacher she had been all day and became a struggling single mother.

“As a homeroom teacher, I’m in charge of more than fifty kids. Without authority, I can’t get anything done.

“When discipline falls apart, grades will drop. The principal will call me in, and parents will blame me.

“You’re my daughter. You have to do your best, behave the most properly, and be the most outstanding.

“Only then will your classmates respect and fear me. I need to establish my authority.”

Her rough fingers brushed the corner of my eye.

It was dry there.

I had not cried.

I just stared at her slightly teary eyes and the old, faded loungewear she was wearing.

It felt as if a hole had opened up somewhere deep inside me.

After a long moment, I heard my own hoarse voice.

“Today... Layla told me that I’m just a punching bag for you, and that you don’t treat me like your own daughter at all.”

Mom’s hand froze.

The sadness and vulnerability on her face receded like a tide, replaced by a stern, offended expression.

“What kind of nonsense are you spouting?!”

Sophie suddenly raised her voice. Her image as a loving mother vanished in an instant.

“You must have said something to provoke Layla first. Even if you’re jealous of her, you shouldn’t lie!”

I closed my eyes for a moment. However, I could not resist speaking up sarcastically.

“What do I have to be jealous of? Her poor grades? The fact that she doesn’t have a mom?”

Smack!

The sharp sound of a slap rang out.

The blow sent my head snapping to the side.

My already swollen right cheek swelled even more. For a moment, it felt as if I had lost hearing in my right ear.

“How dare you speak like that? I can’t believe such vicious words came from the mouth of my own flesh-and-blood daughter!”

“Your own flesh-and-blood daughter...”

I muttered the words, suddenly finding it all utterly absurd. I even felt like laughing.

“So, I deserve to be hit the hardest, and I deserve to have no dignity, is that it?”

“You!”

Sophie’s chest heaved with rage, and her finger trembled as she pointed at me.

“You’re so ungrateful! I’ve worked so hard...”

I skillfully tuned out her tearful tirade of complaints.

Once upon a time, those words would have instantly softened my heart, making me feel for how hard she had worked.

But on that day, those words blew right through like the wind through a hole and left no trace behind.

For my own good, she had slapped my face until it swelled and pricked my lips with a needle.

Was that what “for my own good” really meant? It was pain that stripped away flesh and bone as it shattered every shred of dignity.

When she had finished yelling, she wiped her face, stood up, and resumed that picture of weary calm. It was as if her earlier rage had been nothing but a figment of my imagination.

“All right, hurry up and eat. You have to get up early tomorrow.”

I lowered my head and continued to pick at the food that had long since gone cold.

My fingers curled slightly beneath the table, brushing against the small notebook hidden in my sleeve.

It would not be much longer.

I silently told myself that.