1 My mother hated me. She believed I had stolen the love of my father, my grandfather, and my grandmother from her. On Christmas Day, she left me at home alone with three male neighbors while she went shopping with other relatives. Before she left, I cried and told her I was scared. She just sneered at me. “Willow, they’re your elders! Besides, with that scrawny body of yours, you really think they’d be interested?” After she was gone, they raped me, then killed me. They dismembered my body and flushed it down the drain. When my mother couldn’t find me, she told our relatives that I was born cheap, that I’d probably run off to fool around with some boy. But later, when she learned of my death, she went mad. When my mother bought clothes for my cousin, her face was lit with a gentle smile I had never seen before. She carefully held a dress up to my cousin, beaming as she praised her. “This bright color is just perfect for our little Joy.” My cousin tried to refuse, but my mother insisted. “It’s Christmas! A festive color for a festive time.” My aunt felt a little awkward. “Since we’re here,” she said, “we should get something for Willow, too.” I really did need new clothes. The winter coat I was wearing was from two years ago, a gift from my father for my fifteenth birthday. Teenagers grow fast. I couldn’t even zip it up anymore. But my mother’s face twisted in disgust. “Buy her something? Why?” “So she can dress up all flashy and go seduce men? Besides, Willow was born trash. She doesn’t deserve clothes this nice.” Although my cousin and aunt were used to hearing my mother say such things, they couldn't help but look embarrassed. All our relatives knew. My mother didn’t like me. She had been the apple of her parents’ and brother’s eyes growing up. Then she met my father, who spoiled her like a princess. My cousin told me that when my mother was pregnant with me, she had been excited for my arrival. She used to say she hoped I’d be a boy, so I could protect her alongside my father. But I was a girl. And a premature one at that. I was frail after birth, so my grandparents and my father shifted some of their attention from my mother to me. My mother felt I had stolen their love. From that day on, she disliked me. The more she neglected me, the guiltier my grandparents and father felt, and the more she hated me. It was tolerable when they were around. But as soon as they were gone, she would become even worse. She once stared at me with pure hatred and said, “I wish I had just gotten rid of you when you were still in my belly.” Remembering the cold, venomous look in her eyes, I shuddered. When I came back to myself, my mother had already dragged my aunt out of the clothing store, as if terrified she might actually buy me something. A sudden wave of sadness washed over me. But, Mom. Even if you were willing to buy me clothes now, I couldn't wear them. I followed behind them, watching as they continued to wander through the mall. My father, who was visiting relatives out of town, called. He reminded my mother, “Willow is a big girl now. When you and your sister-in-law go out, don't leave her home alone.” My mother bristled at my father’s concern for me. She whined into the phone, “Willow, Willow, that's all you ever care about! What about me? I’m your wife!” My father’s good-natured laugh came through the phone. “Of course, I care about you. I care about you the most.” After a few more sweet nothings, he reminded her again, “Remember to keep Willow with you. Men who’ve been drinking can be dangerous.” My mother nodded absently and hung up. She kicked at a pile of snow, muttering unhappily. “They say a daughter is her father’s lover from a past life. It must be true.” “Little slut.” I watched her, my heart aching with a strange urge to cry. Knowing my mother’s personality, my father sent a message to my cousin. At the sound of the notification, my mother eyed my cousin suspiciously. “Well, well, looks like our Joy is a busy bee. Who’s messaging you on Christmas?” My cousin didn’t dare say it was my father and quickly made up a lie. But she took his words to heart. A little while later, she said casually, “Auntie, maybe we should head back. It’s getting really cold out here.” “Besides, it’s no fun for Willow to be home all by herself.” My mother couldn't stand anyone showing me concern. “Who said she’s alone?” she retorted. “Aren’t her two older 'brothers' and their uncle there with her?” My aunt also felt uneasy. “But they’re all men, and they’ve been drinking. Rose, Willow’s a young woman now. It’s not safe for her to be alone with them.” My mother just scoffed. “What’s not safe about it?” “They’re her elders! Besides, with that scrawny body of hers, what man would even look at her?” Hearing this, a dull ache spread through my chest. How strange. My heart had already been torn out, so how could it still hurt? 2 Two hours ago, my mother had said the exact same thing to me. It was Christmas Day. Our neighbor, Uncle Miller, had come over with his two sons. My aunt and cousin were also there, so it was a lively gathering. Everyone had a little to drink with dinner. The women were fine, but Uncle Miller and his sons drank heavily. After dinner, my mother suggested she, my aunt, and my cousin go shopping, leaving me at home alone. Uncle Miller and his sons eyed me with lecherous gazes. I trembled with fear. Drunk, they no longer had their usual gentle demeanor. They looked like savage beasts. I clutched my mother's sleeve, pleading, “Mom, I want to go with you. I don't want to stay home…” “I’m scared!” But she pried my hand off and sneered at me. “Willow, they’re your elders! Besides, you really think with that scrawny body of yours, they’d be interested?” Before I could say another word, she pushed me into my room and locked the door, leaving the key and my phone on the coffee table outside. But she didn't know. The moment they left, Uncle Miller and his sons unlocked the door and came in. They subjected me to a brutal assault. Afraid I would scream and alert the neighbors, they covered my mouth and nose, pressing down hard. By the time it was over, I was dead. Mom, if you had just listened to Dad, if you had just called me instead of coming back, you would have found out that I was already gone. While you were saying those words, Uncle Miller and his sons were frantically dismembering my body and flushing it down the toilet. Mom. The bathroom floor is so cold. I’m so cold, and it hurts so much. My mother took my aunt and cousin to get their nails done. I watched from the side, a little envious. Once, I had the chance to go with her. The nail salon was filled with countless sparkling decorations, glittering under the lights. They were so beautiful, like crystals from a fairy tale. I was leaning over the counter, mesmerized, when my mother’s gaze fell on me. She slapped me, hard. “What are you looking at?” she mocked in front of everyone. “Want to get your nails done so you can better seduce men?” I was stunned, my hand covering my cheek as I stood there, frozen. People pointed and whispered, but my mother didn't spare me another glance. But now, she was saying to my cousin, “Joy, you have such long, fair fingers. Any style would look beautiful on you.” I lowered my head and looked away. My cousin sent me a text. I didn’t reply. She looked worried. While my mother was getting her nails done, she snuck out to call me. But I couldn't answer the phone anymore. My cousin grew even more anxious, shifting restlessly in her seat. I wanted to comfort her, but my hand passed right through her body. I fell silent, my eyes stinging. Just then, a young mother and daughter walked in. The mother was also there for a manicure, and her daughter had her arm linked through hers, helping her pick out charms. The daughter chose two large rhinestones. “Mom, these are so pretty!” she giggled. The mother lovingly tapped her nose. “My baby has the best taste!” They had such a wonderful relationship. I was so envious my eyes felt cold. I couldn't look away. When I finally did, I realized my mother was watching them too. My aunt noticed as well. “What’s wrong, Rose? Are you jealous?” she teased. My heart tightened. That’s right. Mom, do you also envy their bond? But in the next moment, my mother looked away with a dismissive tsk. “I am envious,” she said. “That little girl is so much more likable than Willow,” she added with disgust. “You don’t know, sis. Willow is so manipulative. She only knows how to act pitiful in front of my parents and my husband, making it seem like I abuse her! She’s always trying to please them, just to steal everything that’s mine!” My aunt wanted to say something, but she held her tongue. She knew my mother’s beliefs were too deeply ingrained. In the end, she just sighed. But for some reason, my mother irritably pushed away the charms she had just chosen. She told the nail technician to just do a single color. “Forget it. There’s nothing else worth seeing. Let’s just go back.” “Before that damn girl causes any trouble at home.” A flicker of hope stirred in my chest. Mom, could it be that seeing other mothers and daughters made you think of the daughter you left behind? But Mom, it’s too late now. The blood and hair I left in the bathroom have already been cleaned up by Uncle Miller and his sons. 3 When they got home, my mother, aunt, and cousin went straight to my room. It was neat and tidy, as if no atrocity had ever occurred. If I weren’t the one who had lived through it, I might have thought it was all just a bad dream. My cousin became even more worried. She turned to look at Uncle Miller and his sons, who were pretending to watch TV. Their eyes met hers, and they quickly looked away, their gazes darting back to the television. My cousin sensed something was wrong. She tugged on my aunt’s sleeve. My aunt, her brow furrowed, seemed to realize something too. “Where’s Willow?” she asked them. “Oh,” the older son, Ken, stammered with a weak smile. “She probably went out. I saw her take a call and leave.” My cousin looked skeptical. Ken nudged his brother, Leo, who quickly chimed in. “Yeah, yeah! Girls her age probably prefer hanging out with their friends, right?” My cousin was even more convinced something was wrong. She said that even if I had gone out, my phone shouldn’t be unreachable. She and my aunt exchanged a look. “Let’s call the police,” my aunt said firmly. Uncle Miller and his sons flinched. But my mother stopped them. She looked furious. “Call the police for what?” Her voice was cold and certain. “You don’t know Willow, but I do!” “She’s making herself unreachable on purpose because she knows my parents are coming over tomorrow! She wants to use this to tattle on me! To say I mistreat her!” My aunt and cousin were speechless. “Rose, what are you talking about…” But my mother just sneered, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’ll show her who’s more important to my parents, me or her!” “That little slut! She’s asking for a beating! Nobody is to go looking for her! When she gets back, I’ll break her legs!” The more my cousin listened, the more absurd it sounded. “Auntie! Willow isn’t like that!” she cried out. My mother just laughed coldly. “Not like that? You’ve all been fooled by her act!” “Just a few days ago, I saw her out shopping with some boy. That little slut is dating behind our backs! She’s probably out fooling around with her boyfriend right now!” Hearing this, my aunt and cousin’s suspicions were finally, reluctantly, quelled. The next day, I still hadn’t returned. My mother woke up early. She cooked dumplings for my cousin and braided her hair. I watched her hands weave through my cousin’s dark hair, so gentle, as if terrified of hurting her. The winter sun slanted through the window, bathing them in a warm glow. It was such a tender scene, as if they were the real mother and daughter. I felt a little dazed. Mom, if my cousin were your daughter, would you treat her the way you treat me? Is it me you dislike, or is it any girl who happens to be your daughter? Or maybe… Even now, I still don’t understand why my mother doesn’t like me. Was it because when I was three, she had terrible menstrual cramps, and my father had to leave her to rush me to the hospital with a 104-degree fever? Or was it in kindergarten, when she forgot to pick me up after school because she was out shopping with friends, and I was almost kidnapped? When my grandfather found out, he scolded her harshly, humiliating her. I don’t know. But Mom. You did love me once, when I was little. In the fifth grade, I was bullied by my classmates for my tattered clothes. You happened to see it when you came to the school. You were like an angry mother hen, shielding a trembling me behind you, childishly threatening the other kids that if anyone dared to bully Willow again, you would beat them up. Mom, you don't know. How I wish time could have frozen in that moment. On the third day, the day after Boxing Day, my mother still hadn’t looked for me. It was as if I was never meant to be a part of this family. My father had called to ask about me, but my mother had brushed him off, saying I was out with friends. By now, the three men who had killed me had been sent home by my mother with all the proper courtesies. My grandparents arrived, wanting to give me my Christmas money. A flash of disgust crossed my mother’s eyes. She ran to them, whining like a child. “Mom, Dad, all you ever think about is Willow! What about my present? Did you get one for me?” My grandparents smiled and handed her an envelope. “Of course, we have one for you! We could forget anyone, but never you!” Like a red butterfly, my mother happily took the envelope into her bedroom. My grandparents continued to look for me. “Where’s Willow? Rose? Tell Willow her grandparents are here! We have a big gift for her!” My mother’s voice, tinged with annoyance, came from the bedroom. “What big gift? What does a child need a big gift for? Mom, Dad, just leave the money with me!” My grandparents frowned. Just then, my cousin, who had been calling me nonstop for two days, turned pale. She whispered to my grandparents that she hadn’t been able to reach me for two days.
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