They snatched up the crushed chocolate crumbs, squeaking.

Jacob shrieked and threw himself into Mom’s arms.

“Mom! There are rats!”

Mom grabbed a slipper and hurled it at me.

“This is your fault, you worthless brat! You brought the rats in!”

Then she hugged Jacob tightly, speaking in soft, soothing tones:

“Don’t be afraid, Jacob. Smart little boys know rats only go after filthy things and low-lives. We’ll never be like her.”

I watched them cautiously.

From as early as I could remember, I had longed for affection like that.

But she had never once treated me that way.

I didn’t even know why she hated me so deeply.

“Are you deaf? Can’t you see your brother is scared?”

“Hurry up and kill those rats!”

“If you can’t get rid of them, you don’t get to eat tonight!”

But my house had always been like it was built on top of a rat’s nest—there was no way to kill them all.

Her words only meant she didn’t want me to eat.

I chased the rats with a broom, but they darted into the walls and rice jar. I couldn’t catch them.

Having not eaten since yesterday morning, I grew dizzy from hunger. I nearly fainted.

Mom only smirked coldly.

“Useless. You might as well starve.”

She always kept her word when it came to tormenting me.

So that night, I went without food.

Counting from yesterday’s breakfast, I had starved for a full day and night—my only taste of food being that half bite of chocolate.

The gnawing hunger drove me to the kitchen early the next morning.

I tried to heat up the bowl of rotten stew.

Just as I lit the stove, Mom stormed in and slapped me hard.

“So young and already greedy for comfort? You even want to eat warm food? Wasting gas!”

“You’re lazy, aren’t you? Eat it cold!”

I was crushed with humiliation, but as a child, I had no power to argue.

Yesterday she had told me to heat it up, but today she forbade it.

If I argued, she’d prick my mouth with a needle, calling me a liar.

With no choice, I curled up in the corner and forced down the icy, rotten stew until my stomach twisted in agony.

Soon I was vomiting and writhing in pain.

Mom kicked me where I lay.

“All this fuss just because you didn’t get chocolate? Pretending to be sick over leftovers—who do you think you’re fooling?”

Sweating and trembling, I begged:

“Mom, I’m not pretending. I really hurt. Please take me to the hospital. I don’t want to die…”

She looked down coldly.

“What do you think you are, some rich princess? Going to the hospital costs money!”

“When we were kids, we never went to the hospital!”

“If you’re really sick, you just tough it out. Kids who survive get stronger and won’t get sick again!”

But I couldn’t tough it out.

My hands and feet shook, my vision darkened.

Instead of helping, she ordered:

“Don’t lie there! Get up and mop the floor!”

“Move your body, get the blood flowing, and you’ll get better faster!”

She yanked my bony arm, dragging me to the bucket.

“Children need to learn hard work from a young age. Today you’ll clean the whole house as your reward!”

“You should be grateful for a lifetime that I’m teaching you these good habits! Everything I do is for your own good.”

She sank back into her self-righteous role of the perfect, caring mother.

I was in such pain that I could barely breathe, my arms and legs weak.

Finally, by accident, I knocked over the bucket of water.

It splashed across the floor.

Just then, Jacob ran in, shouting as he came:

“Mom! I want to see the puppy mop the floor!”

He ran too fast and didn’t see the puddle. His foot slipped and he fell flat on the ground, bursting into loud wails.

Mom immediately kicked me hard into the wall.

“You worthless brat! Can’t even mop the floor properly! Were you trying to kill your brother?”

I didn’t even have the strength to cry.

I lay weak on the ground, groaning:

“It wasn’t me…”

Jacob only cried harder.

“It was her! It was her! I saw her do it on purpose!”

Mom’s fury exploded. She snatched up the dripping mop and slammed it against me.

Soaked and heavy, it hit with crushing force, each blow making me wish for death as the only release.

“Lying again! You’re lying again! So young, and already rotten!”

“Are you jealous that your brother is better at everything, so you want to hurt him?”

“How can a child’s mind be this vicious?”

Terrified, I didn’t dare cry. I crawled forward, biting my lip, wiping up the water little by little.

But she had no intention of letting me go.

She cursed while striking harder and harder, until I was barely conscious, gasping for air.

“You jinx, you’re a born bad seed! Nothing will ever fix you!”

In her rage, she lifted the bucket and dumped all the filthy water over me.

My body gave out—cold and burning all at once.

I collapsed, eyelids so heavy I thought I would die right there.

Just then, I heard a voice outside shout:

“Stop!”

When I woke again, Aunt Lisa was sitting by my side.

She was the only person in this world who ever cared for me.

Her eyes were red from crying as she whispered:

“Emily, you’ve suffered so much. There isn’t a single spot on your body without bruises.”

“I begged your mom to let you live with me, but your parents refused…”

“They said if you left, no one would be here to look after Jacob.”

Before she could finish, Dad stormed in.

He grabbed Aunt Lisa’s arm and flung her to the ground.

“This is our family business! Who are you to meddle?”

“You think having some money makes you special?”

“Unless you hand over your whole fortune, you’ll never take my daughter. I’d rather beat her to death first!”

He yanked me out of bed like a rag doll.

“Lazy trash! Still lying here? Get up and make dinner for Jacob!”

“Good for nothing! All you ever do is steal your brother’s chocolate!”

“Jinx! Worthless brat! Ever since you were born, my luck at the casino has never once been good!”

As he cursed, he dragged me toward the kitchen.

Then he turned and shoved Aunt Lisa out the door with a brutal blow.

“Bring me half a billion dollars, or don’t even dream of taking this little brat away!”

Aunt Lisa looked at me, sick and barely standing, still being forced to cook for them. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

She was wealthy, but only comfortably so—she couldn’t possibly hand over that kind of money.

I knew she wanted to help, but she was powerless.

As I cooked, I swayed on my feet.

Dad sat outside, calculating his gambling money, and shouted into the kitchen:

“Hurry up! You trying to starve your old man? How did I end up with such a useless kid?”

Then he bellowed at Mom:

“You useless woman! Why are there still so many rats in this house? What if they bite Jacob?”

The sound of crashes followed.

I didn’t need to look—I knew Dad was hitting Mom again.

Terror gripped me.

I sped up my work, but my hands trembled uncontrollably.

By mistake, I grabbed the wrong container and poured it into the rice jar.

When I looked closer, my heart stopped.

It was the rat poison Mom had warned me about.

Panic nearly broke me.

If they found out I had ruined a whole jar of rice, they’d beat me to death.

In those few seconds, I imagined every possible way I might die.

Just then, Mom’s furious voice came from outside:

“You little brat! What’s taking you so long in there? Want your dad, your mom, and your brother to starve?”

“With laziness like yours, what future could you possibly have?”

I froze, my hands still in the rice.

She stormed in and pressed the hot pan straight onto my hand.

Instantly, blisters erupted, and I screamed in agony.

From outside, Dad shouted impatiently:

“Shut up, jinx! Stop yelling!”

I bit back my cries.

All I could do was watch as Mom, smiling, carried the food to the table.

They ate happily, as if they were the real family.

And me…

I was nothing but a dog left at their feet.

When they were done, Mom sneered at me:

“There are leftovers in the fridge. Why didn’t you eat those?”

“Trying to live in comfort at your age? Spoiled already?”

“Until the leftovers are gone, you’re not getting any of this food. Understand? Wasting is a sin.”

Satisfied, they burped and fed the scraps of meat and fish to the dog.

The cramps in my stomach made it impossible to eat. My hands still bled freely.

Mom forbade me to use medicine.

“Why waste it on a scratch like that?” she said.

The searing pain kept me awake all night.

Over and over, my mind screamed the same thought:

I needed to leave. I needed to live with Aunt Lisa.

If only…

I wasn’t their child.

If only…

I could be hers.

At least with Aunt Lisa, I’d get a hot meal. I’d be allowed to see a doctor.

From the other room, their snores rose—deep and satisfied, as if torturing me was their nightly entertainment.

That night, a dark thought coiled around me like a snake:

If my family no longer existed… maybe Aunt Lisa could finally take me away.

By dawn, that thought consumed me.

When I saw the rice I had washed over and over, the idea reached its peak.

I told myself:

Mom always taught me—save every penny, never waste anything.

Throwing away this whole pot of rice would be such a waste…