2
Last time, after choosing Mom. Dad left with.
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practically nothing. The villa, my supposed
dowry, was immediately gifted to my uncle.
Within two months, they moved into our
house. The villa was “too big“, they “couldn’t
afford a cleaning lady“, and the utilities were
“too expensive“.
They started ruling the roost. First, they
demanded Mom cook for them. After a week of vegetarian meals (Mom’s “cleanse“), they forced me to cook. I was in ninth grade, studying for exams, and constantly covered in burns. Mom didn’t care. “We’re family,” she’d
say. “Don’t be so focused on petty things. Now that your father’s gone, don’t pick up his
bad habits. I despise that.”
With no support from my own mother, I was
powerless. I cooked and studied, my hands
blistered and aching. My cousin took over my
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room. When I protested, Mom said, “You’re
just like your low–class father, obsessed with
material things.”
I wasn’t obsessed with material things. I just
wanted to live normally in my own home.
Meanwhile, her brother gambled away the
villa and all our remaining money. Desperate,
he decided to sell me.
When I begged Mom for help, she’d said,
“He’s your family. What’s a little money?
Don’t be selfish with money like your father.”
If living a normal life without being exploited
was “corrupted,” then let me be corrupted.
