Cornered, Sarah had no choice. Her voice came out in a trembling whisper. "I got my period... it stained my pants..."

Before she could finish, Mom exploded.

"How is that possible!" The shriek echoed off the school walls. "Didn't I make you take the progesterone? You're taking the entrance exam soon—if this comes now, you'll ruin everything!"

She squatted down. Reached for Sarah. In front of dozens of classmates and parents, she tried to physically inspect her daughter.

"Let me see! Are you lying to me? You want to use this as an excuse to skip studying again, right?"

Sarah dodged, shoving Mom's hands away, her face twisted in mortification. "I didn't... Mom, stop..."

Then a boy broke through the crowd.

He rushed forward and pulled Sarah behind him, shielding her with his own body.

He looked Mom dead in the eye. "Mrs. James, you can't treat Sarah like this!"

Elliot Simmons.

Mom studied the boy standing between her and her daughter. Something shifted in her expression—a look of twisted realization.

She straightened slowly. "Oh. No wonder."

A cold, harsh laugh escaped her throat. "I was wondering why the medicine didn't work. So it turns out it was *that* kind of delay!"

Sarah's face flushed crimson. She lunged forward to cover Mom's mouth. "Mom! Stop!"

Elliot went bright red. "Sarah and I are just classmates!"

Mom sneered. "Classmates? She has plenty of classmates. Why are *you* the only one standing up for her?"

She stepped closer, invading his space. "Are you harboring dirty intentions toward my daughter? Tell the truth—did you get her pregnant?"

"Of course not! I—" Elliot's chest heaved. "I just can't stand seeing you abuse her!"

"Bullshit!" Mom spat. "We've all been young. You think you can hide those filthy thoughts from me?"

The whispers started.

"See? I told you. Sarah looks like a model student, but she's a liar."

"They say a mother knows her daughter best. If her mom says it, it must be true."

"Is Sarah really dating Elliot Simmons?"

"Isn't Sarah's family poor? Why would a rich kid like Elliot want her?"

"Oh, you don't get it. There's a saying: 'If it's free and delivered to your door, why say no?'"

Something snapped behind Mom's eyes.

She lunged forward and grabbed Elliot by the collar.

*Slap! Slap!*

Two strikes across his face. "Tell me! What did you do to my daughter?"

Sarah threw herself at Mom, sobbing. "Mom! Elliot and I have nothing going on! Let him go!"

Handprints blazed across Elliot's cheeks. His eyes watered from the sting, from the humiliation. "Mrs. James, let go of me or I'm calling the police!"

His phone appeared in his hand.

Only then did Mom release him. But she wasn't finished. Her finger jabbed toward his nose.

"I'm taking my daughter to get checked by a doctor. If there is anything wrong with her body, I will send you to prison!"

Snickers rippled through the crowd. Students pointed. Whispered. Sarah looked at them—her peers, her tormentors.

Her dignity lay shattered on the concrete beside the dead dog.

She grabbed her backpack from the ground and ran. Head down. Fleeing.

Mom watched her go without rushing.

"Run. Go ahead and run," she called after her. "You can run, but you can't hide. When we get home, I'll deal with you properly."

---

I didn't want to go home.

Fear coiled tight in my stomach. Mom was terrifying.

In front of outsiders, she wore a mask of sanity. But once the door closed behind us, she became something else entirely.

...

"Come out!"

Sarah had locked her bedroom door. But Mom wasn't in a hurry.

She stood outside the wood, calm and patient, a heavy ruler gripped in her hand.

Waiting for the inevitable.

I imagined my sister inside, already curled into a trembling ball.

Mom didn't hesitate. She snatched the spare key and jammed it into the lock. The door slammed open with a deafening *bang*, and she stormed in.

"Why did you lose two points in math?"

"How could you be so careless?"

"Is your head filled with boys? Are you too busy flirting to study?"

Sarah curled up on her bed, shaking her head frantically. "No, Mom, no... it was just a mistake..."

"I don't want your excuses! Hands out. Now!"

Sarah trembled as she extended her arms.

*Crack.*

The ruler sliced through the air and struck Sarah's palm with sickening force.

I flinched at the sound, rushing forward to grab Mom's pant leg. "Mom, stop! Don't hit Sarah! It hurts her..."

Mom didn't even look down. Her foot caught me in the waist. I flew back and landed hard on my bottom.

My lip quivered. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I opened my mouth and wailed.

Mom whipped around, her eyes bulging. "If you want to cry, get out and do it! Get out!"

I slapped my hands over my mouth, choking back the sobs. I didn't dare make another sound.

She turned back to Sarah. Her expression shifted instantly—from rage to something terrifying. Desperate sincerity.

"Do you know that you are my only hope?"

"You have to get into a top university. You *must*. When that happens, I'll dress up, and we'll march right in front of your father and slap him in the face with your success!"

"Only when your father sees how brilliant we are will he regret leaving. That's the only way he'll come back!"

Mom and Dad were divorced. Mom said a "filthy homewrecker" had seduced him. She claimed that if Sarah and I were perfect—if we were undeniable—Dad would eventually return.

"No dinner tonight." Mom tossed the ruler onto the desk. "Do another set of practice problems."

After the beating came the orders.

It wasn't until Mom went to the kitchen to start cooking that I dared to sneak into the room.

Sarah wasn't at her desk.

She sat on the edge of the bed, still as a statue. A wooden puppet with its strings cut.

Tear tracks had dried on her cheeks, but her expression was terrifyingly calm.

The calm of despair.

Her left hand hung by her side, the palm swollen and angry red, puffed up like rising dough. But it was her right wrist that made my breath hitch.

A jagged crimson line cutting across her skin.

*Drip. Drip.*

Bright red blood fell onto the floorboards, vivid and shocking against the wood.

"Sarah..."

I rushed forward, panic rising in my chest.

Sarah moved instantly, covering my mouth with her good hand and pressing a finger to her lips.

"Shh. Don't tell Mom, okay?"

"I was just... very sad." Her voice was hollow. "I needed relief."

I stared at her through wet lashes, half-understanding, half-terrified.

She let go of me and reached under her pillow, pulling out a small iron box.

"Wait until I fall asleep." She pressed it into my hands. "You have to remember to give this box to the police."

"What's inside?" I asked, confused.

Sarah opened the lid. Inside lay a voice recorder. She pressed play.

Mom's violence filled the air—the screaming, the hitting, the insults from years of abuse. Even the incident at the school gate, recorded clearly.

"I begged Dad for this on my birthday three years ago," Sarah said softly. "You have to keep it safe."

"And... if the police ask how I died, you must tell them Mom forced me to do it. Do you understand?"

I nodded, clutching the cold metal box.

My gaze drifted to the bedpost of Sarah's bunk bed. A tiny red light blinked there. I reached out and poked it.

"Sarah, what is this?"

Sarah turned to look.

All the color drained from her face.

A camera.

Mom had been watching.

The realization hit us both at the same moment.

*Crash.*

The door was kicked open again. Mom stood in the doorway, a kitchen knife gripped tightly in her hand.

"Good." Her voice trembled with fury. "I gave birth to you, raised you, and this is how you repay me? You join forces with that traitorous father of yours to destroy me?"

"You want to die? Fine. Let's all die together!"