Chapter 4

After roughly rinsing the blood and bruises from her face, Martha came back to comb my hair.

"Sweetheart, I dreamed about when you were little again last night."

"You had just learned to walk back then, your hair in two tiny pigtails. Whenever I went out collecting bottles, you'd waddle right behind me, and you never cried when you tripped."

Wringing out a warm towel, she gently wiped my face with her bony, liver-spotted hands.

"And remember that winter carnival? You cried your eyes out on the pavement because you wanted that giant rabbit lantern, but I couldn't afford it. I had to work a whole month cleaning stalls in the freezing cold just to earn that lantern for you. Do you remember that?"

I turned my face away from her pleading gaze, staring blankly at the peeling paint on the wall.

With immense effort, she helped me change into clean clothes and placed a cup of warm water on my nightstand.

She pulled up a wooden stool, sat beside my bed, and took my limp hand into hers, desperately waiting for any hint of warmth.

"Whenever I used to cough, your little hands would pat my back. When my hands cracked in the winter, you promised you'd buy me a warm coat when you grew up. Whenever someone gave you a piece of fruit, you always insisted Grandma took the first bite."

A flood of memories I had locked away for years rushed through my mind. I shook my head, shutting them down.

When I met her cloudy, aging eyes again, there was only cold resentment and detachment left in mine.

[That hollow look in her eyes is sickening! Every single flashback is pure torture!]

[Does she have no heart at all?! Her grandmother raised her from a baby! Why would she choose that freeloading aunt over her?!]

[Looking at her deadpan face makes me want to reach through the screen and slap her!]

[Stop talking to her, Grandma! She doesn't deserve your breath! She's not worth it!]

[I can't stand this! What makes her act so damn superior?! She's a cripple who only knows how to lick a parasite's boots!]

[Useless burden! All she knows is giving the cold shoulder! Why treat her grandma like this?! Hasn't she done enough for you?!]

"No matter how hard it got back then, I always told myself I couldn't fall," Martha whispered, her voice trembling. "If I fell, my baby girl wouldn't have a home anymore. I survived all of it. You were such a sweet child... How did you become like this?"

My silence and cold indifference cut deeper than any dagger.

Martha gathered the soiled laundry and left the room. The creak of the door sounded like a long, mournful sigh, followed by the muffled sound of weeping in the hall.

When she came back, she had wiped her tears. She looked like a completely different person.

She was finally pushed to the edge.