: Death Sentence

Mrs. Hawthorne insisted that I was the one who killed Mr. Hawthorne. That belief is what kept her alive for ten years.

And she tormented me for those ten years.

The last time she flew into a rage and smashed a bottle at my head, I didn't dodge.

'Because I'm about to die anyway. If my death can bring her some peace, then maybe it's worth it.'

Ever since Mr. Hawthorne died, Mrs. Hawthorne has blamed me for it. I'd grown used to it. But then one day, I received my own death sentence.

My consciousness grew hazy. The last thing I heard was the wail of an ambulance siren before I passed out.

When I next opened my eyes, I heard the hospital's Chief Physician speaking to Mrs. Hawthorne.

1

"It's a Severe Brain Hemorrhage and Aggressive Leukemia. I suggest you prepare for the worst."

The doctor's words struck like a bolt from the blue, shattering Mrs. Hawthorne's composure. She froze, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"That Useless Freeloader... is she really going to die?"

For years, she'd called me a Murderer, even in her sleep. But the suddenness of this news seemed to have caught her off guard.

I sat up in my hospital bed. Gazing at the IV bag dripping above me and the oxygen mask, I heard every word.

'Maybe... death is a kind of release.'

I repeated the thought to myself, but my eyes drifted instinctively toward Mrs. Hawthorne. I could vaguely make out the look of disgust and contempt on her face.

The past few years had completely destroyed any bond between us. We were like strangers, even if we passed on the street.

She quietly signed the papers the hospital gave her, but the doctor grabbed her by the arms, questioning her again and again.

"Ma'am, please think this through. Are you certain you want to stop treatment?"

The moment he finished speaking, my heart plunged into an icy abyss. She had just shattered any chance I had of being saved.

'Then again... why did I have any expectations at all? Perhaps she can't wait for me to die.'

After that, Mrs. Hawthorne stopped paying the hospital bills. I was kicked out of my room and taken home by her.

What awaited me there was endless humiliation. Her opinion of me hadn't changed one bit.

That night, I decided to end my own life. I placed the tip of a blade against the artery in my arm and sliced.

Blood gushed out instantly, spilling onto the floor. I lay in the bathtub, waiting for death to come.

But then I heard a pounding on the door. "Wretched Girl, did you drop dead in there? What's taking you so long?"

The next thing I knew, she'd kicked the door open. She saw my drowsy state, saw the blood, saw my severed artery, and her expression changed as if she finally understood.

"You want to die? Did I say you could?"

Her question left me frozen in terror. The face before me was becoming more and more unrecognizable.

"Isn't this what you've wanted for all these years?"

"If you die, who's going to carry the blame? You deserve to live a life worse than death!"

Mrs. Hawthorne rummaged through a battered First-aid Kit, pulled out some Styptic Powder, and poured it over my arm. It worked surprisingly well.

But I'd lost too much blood. My head was swimming, and my thoughts were becoming a jumbled mess.

From that day on, she kept me locked in my room. She took away anything sharp, terrified that I might try again, leaving me with no choice in the matter at all.

2

I was like a common prisoner, enduring it all, locked away in that room where I never saw the light of day.

Every mealtime, I would hear the sounds of their close bond from outside, the loving mother and her devoted son.

"Ian, you're finally back! Mom made you some Sweet and Sour Ribs and Cola Chicken Wings—they're all your favorites!"

"Mom, where's that Filthy Tramp?"

I heard the voice of my brother, Ian Hawthorne, and a chill ran down my spine. My whole body broke out in goosebumps.

"Her? Oh, she has a contagious disease. She's been locked in that room!"

Mrs. Hawthorne pointed to the small storeroom in the dark corner. It was crammed with junk, and me, treated like trash. It was pitch-black—a place where I never saw the light of day!

"A contagious disease?"

I heard this and scoffed internally, a hint of self-mockery in my smile. 'So, cardiovascular disease can be passed off as some vile, contagious illness.'

"Then... give her the leftovers. Saves us from having to feed a dog!"

Ian Hawthorne ate until his mouth was slick with grease, then disdainfully pushed aside the scattered, leftover side dishes.

But I heard Mrs. Hawthorne's voice, laced with exceptional affection and concern for him. "Ian, are you full? If so... Mom's going to take this to feed the dogs."

My brother nodded. A moment later, a sliver of light pierced through a crack, shining on me in The Storeroom.

With my hair a tangled mess like a bird's nest and my body covered in dust, I looked at this woman who was at once so familiar and yet so strange.

"Here! Take it and eat!"

She said this with a wide smile. The hunger in my stomach was unbearable. I reached out with my dirt-caked hand, trying to grab that plate of 'dog scraps.'

But in the next second, Mrs. Hawthorne dumped every last bit of the leftovers onto the floor. I could only stare, dumbfounded and aghast.

"Mom... you..."

"Who's your mom? I don't have a disgusting murderer for a daughter like you!"

Her disgust was practically written on her face. It was hard enough to breathe in here, to find enough oxygen to survive. I scrambled to reach my hands out toward Mrs. Hawthorne.

I knelt on the floor, scrambling desperately to grab the hem of her expensive clothes, but in the end, I clutched at empty air.

She spat at me in utter disgust and rolled her eyes viciously.

"Stay away from me! You wretched thing!"

She hurriedly spat out those hateful words. I looked up helplessly, as if I'd just seen my last straw of hope.

"Mom... it's all my fault. Please let me out, okay?"

I begged her, debasing myself, but even at my most pathetic, it had no effect on her. As always, she turned a deaf ear.

Finally, before she left, she glared at me and spat viciously, "Get out? In your dreams! You can just stay in here for the rest of your life!"

3

She slammed The Storeroom shut again. In my despair, I looked at my own reflection with self-mocking ridicule, like a complete clown.

'Why would I ever think she could save me? After all, she was the one who shoved me into this bottomless abyss, from which there is no escape.'

I honestly don't understand. On that night of torrential rain, it was my brother who hunted down Mr. Hawthorne and threatened him, saying, "Old man, give me $50,000. I have an emergency."

His demand that day was a huge shock to Mr. Hawthorne. As an ordinary Bricklayer, how could he possibly come up with so much money immediately?

"Ian! Can you give me a little more time?"

But my brother instantly rejected Mr. Hawthorne's humble plea.

"If I don't see the money by tomorrow, you'll get it for me even if you have to sell off all your organs!"

The moment he finished speaking, my brother went off to enjoy some Street Racing, leaving behind a pitiful, white-haired Mr. Hawthorne and me, who was still completely clueless.

"In the end... he's grown up and his wings have hardened."

Mr. Hawthorne let out a helpless sigh, looking at me with a face full of sorrow and grief.

"Daughter, Mr. Hawthorne may not be able to see you get married and have children. In the future... you must take good care of yourself."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Mr. Hawthorne burst out the door into the drizzling rain of the night. From that day on, he never came back.

My heart felt as if it had been plunged into an icebox, a piercing pain like a needle's sting. I dialed Mr. Hawthorne's number over and over again.

After I tried again and again, all I got was no answer. Finally, on the last attempt, Mr. Hawthorne picked up.

"Daughter, it is Mr. Hawthorne who has failed you. You must live on..."

"Huh? Hello?"

Before I could even react, the call was disconnected. When I tried to call back, there was still no answer.

"This..."

My mind was a complete mess; I was about to get up and rush out to look for Mr. Hawthorne. Then, early one morning three days later, I was still sound asleep in my room...

...when Mrs. Hawthorne grabbed me by the hair, dragging me from my bed onto the floor. She glared at me viciously, with a look in her eyes as if she wanted to eat me alive.

"Moira Hawthorne! You Filthy Mutt! What did you do to Mr. Hawthorne?!"

"Why did he jump into the sea and kill himself right after your call? And sign a contract to sell his organs?"

"It was you! You're the one who killed Mr. Hawthorne! You Harbinger of Death!"

In a fit of rage, Mrs. Hawthorne raised the wine bottle in her hand and brought it crashing down on my cheek, near the bridge of my nose. The bottle shattered into pieces on impact.