Her fifth daughter died, so she deleted his bloodline. novel Chapter 70

Chapter 1

Mom almost died giving birth to me, and after that, she was never the same. The

doctors called it postpartum depression.

Whenever I even breathed too loud, she’d scream and lunge at me, hands around my

throat.

But afterward, she’d crumple beside my crib, sobbing and whispering that she was

sorry.

My brother Sam Evans would look at my bruises and tell me Mom used to be different.

He said she used to be gentle, and that I shouldn’t blame her.

Dad would slip me toys when Mom wasn’t looking, guilt written all over his face. He kept saying she’d get better if I could just hold on a little longer.

So I learned to disappear. I didn’t cry, didn’t laugh, barely breathed. And eventually, she

did get better.

But on my sixth birthday, I messed up. There was a cake, and I couldn’t stop staring at

Something in Mom’s face changed. Her eyes went wild, and she slammed the cake off

the table, screaming at me.

“You almost killed me on that operating table! And you have the nerve to want cake?”

Sam’s smile faded. “God, can’t you control yourself for one second? Do you like making Mom upset?”

Even Dad broke, his face ashen with exhaustion. “We never should have had you. We were fine without you. The three of us were happy.”

They huddled around Mom and walked out, leaving me behind.

I stared at the ruined cake on the floor. Then I walked to the balcony, tears blurring my

vision.

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I climbed over the railing and jumped. There was a dull thud, and then, finally, silence. Finally, peace.

I felt myself drifting upward, light as air, until I was back inside our apartment.

The living room was eerily quiet. The cake lay splattered on the floor, the only sign anything had happened.

I drifted toward the mess, and somehow, even now, I couldn’t stop crying. It was my first birthday party. Six years old, and this was my first.

Mom had always hated me. Nothing I did was ever right. If I cried, she called me a burden. If I laughed, she flew at me with her fists.

In the beginning, Dad and Sam tried to protect me. They’d sneak me candy and toys when she wasn’t around.

But Mom found out, and after a few of her screaming fits, they stopped. They were too scared to show me any kindness after that. And eventually, they just gave up.

They looked the other way when she hit me. They told themselves she just needed to let it out, that she’d calm down once she was done.

All they ever said was the same thing, over and over. “Just a little longer, Lily. Mom will get better.”

Some nights, after she was done with me, I’d lie there half-asleep, still crying. I’d dream that someone was there, rubbing cool cream on my bruises, crying softly beside

I’d whimper in my sleep. “Mom, please don’t hit me. I’ll be good. I’m sorry.”

But the person would always choke back a sol and slip away.

I looked down at the ruined cake and whispered to myself. “I have to clean this up before Mom gets back, or she’ll be mad again.”

“She just started getting better. I can’t mess that up.”

But my hand went right through the broom. I ried again and again, but I couldn’t grip

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I lifted my sleeve to wipe my eyes. Useless. I was useless. I couldn’t even do this one last thing before I left.

Before I could think another thought, something pulled me away.

When I opened my eyes, I was somewhere else. Mom, Dad, and Sam were sitting at a fancy restaurant. It was the kind of place I’d only ever seen on TV-white tablecloths and glittering chandeliers.

Mom’s eyes were red as she ranted.

“Having her wrecked my body. I can never work again. I spent ten years clawing my way up to that job, and now it’s gone!”

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