Mom, Please Love Me

I looked up in shock and met my mother's cold, indifferent face.But all I saw in her eyes was eighteen years' worth of disgust.I clenched the hem of my shirt, my voice trembling."Mom… didn't you say that once I'd donated blood eighteen times… I'd finally be your clean child? So why are you still throwing me away?"That one sentence seemed to ignite something in her."Clean? What right do you have to be clean?!"She lunged at me, her fingernail digging into my forehead like a dagger."Those eyes of yours! They're exactly like that monster's! Every time you look at me, it's like you're reminding me of how filthy that night was! How disgusting! Why don't you just die?! Why?!"I didn't have time to dodge. She shoved me backward, and I stumbled, my back slamming hard against the wall. The pain shot through me. It hurt so much I couldn't even speak.My younger sister, Alice Ballmer, rushed forward at just the right moment, wrapping her arms around our hysterical mother, tears str

"You almost killed Mom just now, and now you're trying to steal food? Like a filthy little bitch like you even deserves to use anything in this house?"I lowered my head and didn't dare talk back.In this family, my sister was always the princess on a pedestal.And me? Even breathing was a crime."I'm sorry. I know—it's my fault."Alice let out a cold laugh and stepped closer, her voice dropping to a bone-chilling level."Since you know you're guilty, then you need to pay the price!"My right eyelid twitched violently—and that's when I saw it. She was holding a gleaming fruit knife in her hand."It's because of those disgusting eyes of yours! Mom can't eat, can't sleep—you've tormented her until she's barely even human anymore!"My face went pale. I stumbled backward in terror."If I just gouge them out, Mom will never have nightmares again!"Alice's face twisted with madness as she raised the knife and lunged straight at my eyes."NO!"Survival instinct took over—I threw

My mother's bloodshot eyes were locked onto that lab report, unblinking."Impossible! How could Alice be type O? Your hospital made a mistake—it has to be a mistake!"She shrieked like a madwoman, grabbing the doctor's white coat, her nails digging in so hard they nearly broke the skin.The doctor wobbled under her shaking, but still managed to explain, "Mrs. Ballmer, genetics doesn't lie."My father, George, went pale as a sheet in an instant.My mother released the doctor and turned her head, inch by stiff inch, to stare at him.In my dazed state, I thought my father might finally speak up for me. But instead, he waved the doctor away and said to my mother, "You misheard. Alice is type A."My mother's mind had been so fragile all these years that she actually believed him.I let out a bitter laugh, feeling the last of my illusions crumble to dust.Her gaze drifted over to me—to my right eye, now a bloody, ruined mess beyond repair.For the first time in eighteen years, I sa

"Tell me what this is."My mother's voice was eerily calm.George saw the report, and the color drained from his face instantly. He took an involuntary step back."Cassandra, let me explain—there must be some misunderstanding here…""Misunderstanding?"Cassandra let out a cold laugh. She pushed herself up against the wall, swaying unsteadily as she rose to her feet, and stepped toward him one slow pace at a time."Eighteen years! George! You made me hate my own flesh and blood for eighteen years!"You made me treat a rapist's spawn like a treasure—dote on her, cherish her for eighteen years!"She raised her hand and hurled both reports right in his face."Tell me! Why?!"The papers fluttered to the floor. George looked into the raging hatred in her eyes and knew there was no hiding it anymore. The panic and pretense on his face slowly melted away."Why?"He let out a mocking laugh and smoothed down his collar."Because I love you, Cassandra. That's why."Back when I was p

Until one session, when Cassandra lost control again. She grabbed my wrist, sobbing, begging, "Doctor, please! Help me! I need to find her—I need to tell her I'm sorry to her face!"Her touch burned against my skin like a branding iron.My whole body went rigid. I yanked my hand back on instinct.The movement pulled up my sleeve—just enough to reveal a patch of my arm. It was covered, thick and dense, with faded white scars—old needle marks.Eighteen years' worth. Four hundred milliliters at a time. Permanent, indelible scars.Cassandra's sobbing stopped dead. Her gaze locked onto my arm like it was the only thing in the world.The consultation room went so quiet I could almost hear the sound of a heart shattering.Slowly—so slowly—she lifted her head and looked at my left eye, the one not hidden by the eyepatch.Her pupils contracted violently."I... Iris...?"…She was trembling, realization dawning like a tidal wave. Tears poured down her face like a broken dam.The next