Chapter 2

Mom required our home to be completely free of dust and water stains. We had to wash our hands three times using the seven-step technique, and we had to strip and disinfect ourselves before entering the house. Even the trash can had to stay completely empty.

Once she started cleaning, she wouldn't stop for hours.

I grew frantic and shouted, "Mom, stop cleaning! Grayson will be back in five hours! Once he returns, you'll never be able to save me."

Unfortunately, no matter how loudly I yelled, Mom stayed busy with her chores over there.

After a while, I heard her grumbling in confusion, "What is this junk in the sink? It's stuck, and I can't pull it out."

My eyes lit up instantly. That wasn't junk; those were my fingers that Grayson Moore had snapped off by force. Before killing me, he had chopped them into pieces with a kitchen knife right before my eyes and flushed them down the drain just to break my spirit.

Mom was a doctor, so she would definitely be able to tell that those were chopped human fingers!

I was overwhelmed with excitement and prayed silently for her to pick them up, examine them, and find me. A loud roar shattered my hope as the garbage disposal beneath the sink whirred to life.

"How did I give birth to such a filthy creature? It's a blessing that I chose a son-in-law as wonderful as Grayson, who's willing to put up with her. Any other man would've divorced her long ago.

"It's a good thing that I came. If Grayson had come home first and found the kitchen this messy, he would've thought that I failed as a parent. She is almost 30 and still needs her mom to clean up her mess; what a waste of a life."

At that moment, my heart turned colder than the freezer. Mom, you did clean up a mess, but it wasn't mine. You personally ground the evidence of Grayson's crime and my last shred of hope into pulp before flushing them away.

…

I lost track of how long Mom spent in the kitchen, but listening to her criticisms of me made every second feel like an eternity.

"Why isn't she back yet?" Mom suddenly muttered.

A minute later, my phone rang again. There was still hope!

I held my breath, hoping the silence would help her notice the phone ringing above me.

Sure enough, Mom walked straight to the refrigerator this time. A sliver of light slipped in from outside. She squatted in front of the fridge and peered inside suspiciously.

Above my head, the phone chirped and sang, "Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring."

Mom pulled out the ice tray, took the bag of minced meat, and spread it on the floor to inspect it. I was about to burst into tears.

"Beatrice, are you an idiot? You actually froze your phone in the refrigerator. It's no wonder you didn't answer when I called. What exactly is inside your head?

"And look at this meat. What kind of meat did you buy? Haven't I taught you not to buy meat with bruises? How many times do I have to tell you that bruised meat means the pig was injured or diseased? You have no basic common sense. No wonder Grayson hits you. You're mindless and deserve it."

It was strange. Even though I was already dead, her words felt like they were killing me all over again.

Mom, that wasn't a diseased pig. That was my back, covered in the bruises Grayson gave me. There was a small mole on it. Couldn't you recognize it?

I remembered the first time Grayson beat me. I had limped out of the house and gone to Mom to ask for help.

When she learned that Grayson hit me because I couldn't cook, she said coldly, "Your husband works hard all day and can't even get a hot meal when he gets home. I think you truly earned that beating."

I stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. As far as I could remember, she had never cooked a single day at home. She used to argue that since everyone had to work and support the family, there was no reason she should be the one in the kitchen.

When I gathered my courage and stammered those very words back to her, she raised her hand and slapped me.