After My Death, My Mother Finally Regrets

Lately, I’ve been plagued by headaches, sometimes even fainting in the streets.

When I finally got my test results from the hospital, it felt like my heart plummeted into an ice-cold abyss.

A deadly brain tumor, they told me. Not common at all. If I didn't get help right away, I might only have two months to live.

But I was just 23.

Two months – that was all I've got left.

How was I supposed to tell my mother?

With a heart weighed down by the news, I stepped into the house that was supposed to be mine.

The moment I opened the door, I was greeted by the sight of my mother and her adopted daughter, Leisha Ward, inseparable like glue, the picture of a loving family.

And me? I was just an outsider in this home.

“Where have you been? Why are you back so late? Are you planning to let your sister starve? She’s not in good health! Get in there and make dinner!”

“Yes, Mom!”

She didn't even seem to see the medicine bag I had. Or maybe she saw it and just didn't care. I slowly made my way to the kitchen, feeling weak. Picking up the spatula, I could barely lift it. Every time I tried to stir, it took all the energy I had.

Mom and Leisha were in the living room watching TV, their occasional laughter piercing me like needles.

Suddenly, Leisha slipped silently into the kitchen.

The bracelet on her wrist, newly bought, glinted under the light, drawing attention.

“Look, Sarah, Mom bought me this bracelet. It cost forty thousand dollars! Are you jealous?” She flaunted her wrist provocatively.

“So what if you’re her real daughter? You still have to serve us like a servant,” she sneered.

My heart clenched. Forty thousand dollars… That was my surgery money.

All these years, I’ve worked like a mule at home and taken on jobs outside, just to survive, to scrape together enough for tuition and living expenses.

And now, that money had so easily become something for someone else to flaunt.

“Sarah! If you don’t hurry up and finish cooking, I’ll skin you alive!” My mother’s angry shout echoed from the distance.

“You worthless thing, even cooking takes you forever! Are you trying to starve us?”

With that, she pulled Leisha back to the living room, where they resumed their so-called ‘warm family moments.’

It felt like a heavy blow had struck my heart. Dragging my weary body, I continued with my tasks. When the soup was ready, I brought it out, only to find myself facing an even greater humiliation.

"Oh!" A soft, malicious cry sounded, followed by the sudden sensation of something tripping my foot. It was Leisha, deliberately setting a trap. The soup spilled, scalding hot, searing my skin with unbearable pain.

At that moment, my mother rushed over—not out of concern, but to make things worse. "Useless! Can't even carry a bowl of soup properly!"

Several sharp slaps landed on my cheeks, and the world began to spin around me.

“You wretched thing! I should've thrown you into the chamber pot when you were born! You cursed brat, you killed Laura, and now you want to harm Leisha, too! You'd better stay put and prepare to donate your kidney to Leisha!

“I’ll beat you to death, you worthless bitch! Don’t you know your sister is frail? And you still dared to spill soup on her?”

Wearing her high heels, she kicked me in the stomach, and the pain brought tears streaming down my face.

“Mom, I’m sorry...” I whispered.

She didn’t care, kicking me again and again, as if trying to release years of hatred onto me.

I was in so much pain I couldn’t speak, my head feeling heavier, and through the blur, I saw my mother shielding Leisha behind her, soothing, “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” as if none of this had anything to do with her.

Inside, a storm of humiliation, anger, and helplessness churned into the most bitter feeling. I was just as much a blood relative in this family, yet I had to endure this treatment day after day…