Daddy, Don't Be Mad, I'll Stay Put

Dad is famous for being a total simp over Mom in the elite society. Naturally, he views Callie Archer, the stepdaughter whom Mom has brought with her, as his own.

But Callie is afflicted with a severe case of walking phobia. Her feet couldn't touch the ground at all. Only when she's stepping on my back can she roam around in the house freely.

So, whenever Callie looks in a certain direction, Mom will press my head down and force me to crawl toward Callie to serve as her doormat.

The doctor issues a warning to my family that my spine is severely contorted. So when Callie wants to admire the flowers in the yard while wearing a pair of spiked shoes again, I can't endure the pain anymore, so I shiver slightly out of instinct.

Callie ends up losing her balance and falling to the ground. She bawls like a baby afterward.

Mom rushes over immediately before kicking me in the gut, her high heel lodging into my flesh.

"It's extremely rare for Callie to be willing to leave the house! Why must you ruin her mood? Can't you just be more understanding and play your role as a doormat for the sake of your sister's illness?"

Meanwhile, Dad scoops Callie into his arms, his heart bleeding for her plight. He coaxes her gently, telling her that he'll buy her new dresses later.

I can only curl up on the ground while hacking up blood. But Dad just thinks I'm playing the pity card.

He commands his men to throw me into the basement. Apparently, I can only be released once I've learned to stay stationary when I'm supporting Callie.

As I clutch my broken ribs, I feel my tears flowing down my face as well as the blood from my injuries.

I'm sorry, Dad.

Next time, I will definitely not move a muscle, just like a corpse.

"Are you still alive?"

The basement door was pushed open a crack, and Dad stood in the backlight, covering his nose and mouth in disgust.

"It smells like a rat has died here. Arlene, it's been three days—have you learned how to be a proper doormat yet?"

Dad looked down at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth a father might have for his daughter. Instead, they held only the impatience one might feel toward a defective product.

Three days ago, Callie Archer was wearing those specially made dance shoes, their soles studded with sharp steel spikes.

She said it was desensitization therapy for her "walking phobia". She could only bring herself to take a step when she felt something soft yet slightly firm beneath her feet.

That something was my back.

When the first steel spike pierced my skin and dug into the space between my vertebrae, I couldn't help but tremble.

Callie screamed and fell onto the lawn, scraping her knee.

Mom lunged at me like a madwoman, her high heel breaking my ribs.

"You just can't stand to see Callie do well! She finally took her first step, and you ruined it all!"

I lay face down in the mud, vomiting blood from the pain.

But Dad, cradling Callie with a pained expression, turned and instructed the bodyguards, "Throw Arlene into the basement. She comes out only when she learns to lie as still as a corpse."

I thought Dad had come to save me. With great effort, I stretched out my bruised hand, trying to grasp the hem of his pants.

"Dad, it hurts. Save me," I said weakly.

Dad took half a step back, his expensive leather shoes avoiding my hand as if it were something filthy.

"It hurts? Do you think it didn't hurt for Callie when she fell? Your mother hasn't eaten for two days out of heartache for Callie. Don't you feel anything for them?"

He crouched down, his gaze icy as he looked at me. "Arlene, you're simply too selfish. As punishment for your selfishness, you get no dinner tonight. Reflect on yourself.

"Callie has a competition tomorrow, so you need to carry her onto the stage. If you dare move again, I'll break your legs."

The door slammed shut with a loud bang, plunging the basement back into darkness.

Despair washed over me as I stared at the sliver of light beneath the door.

My body grew colder, and my consciousness began to blur. I remembered a time before I turned six years old, when Dad used to hold me too. He said I was his little princess.

But everything changed after Mom brought Callie into our home. Mom said Callie had a pitiful past, so we had to make it up to her twofold.

Dad said, "Love for one extends to others close to them." Moreover, he wanted to prove he was the best stepfather in the world.

And so, my bedroom became Callie's walk-in closet, and my spine became Callie's personal carpet. I became the most unwanted piece of trash in this family.

My heart gave a violent, final spasm. The last of my breath caught in my throat.

Sorry, Dad. This time, I'd truly learned my lesson. I wouldn't move ever again.