My mother, it seemed, was incapable of understanding human language. I had pulled an all-nighter preparing a project proposal, telling her I had a critical meeting in the morning. In response, she slipped sleeping pills into my milk and secretly turned off my phone. By the time I jolted awake, it was 10:30 AM. "A mother knows what's best for her own daughter. I just wanted you to get some more sleep." There was no time to argue. I frantically turned my phone on, only to be flooded with over a hundred missed calls and frantic texts from my boss and colleagues. Thankfully, the office wasn't far. I grabbed my laptop bag and bolted downstairs, only to find the tires on my scooter were flat. My mom called down from the balcony. "You were complaining the other day about the tires being low. I tried to be helpful and add some air, but I must have forgotten to put the valve caps back on." Again, no time to argue. I sprinted to the office, my lungs burning, and forced a smile as I opened my laptop. But the screen was dark. The whole machine was damp, water seeping from the seams. It wouldn't turn on. I was fired. When I got home, my mother had the nerve to look hurt. "You said last night you needed to clean the dust out of your computer. I figured, it's just dust, right? A little water should wash it right off. So I took it to the sink for you." The rage and despair were so overwhelming that I fainted on the spot. When I woke up, a strange, one-eyed old man was grunting and thrusting on top of me. My mother stood by the bed. "You're over thirty with no job. I was just trying to be helpful and find you a husband. Why are you so ungrateful?" I grabbed a knife, ready to kill her, to kill myself, to end it all. But my father, my brother, and the neighbors swarmed in, wrestling the knife from my hand. They called me a monster, an ungrateful brat who didn't appreciate her mother's love. In the chaos, someone wrenched the knife from my grasp and plunged it into my chest. I collapsed in a spreading pool of my own blood. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the night I was finishing the project proposal. The dense text of the proposal glowed on my screen. I pinched my arm, hard. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me, and tears of pure, unadulterated joy streamed down my face. I was really back! Back to the night that had completely destroyed my life! The horrors of my past life flashed before my eyes. This time, I wouldn't be a passive victim. This time, all the people who called me an ungrateful brat would get a full, undiluted taste of my mother’s "kindness." As I sat there, weeping silently at the screen, my mother walked in with a glass of milk. "Lily, sweetie, look at you. Working so hard your eyes are watering." "It breaks my heart to see you like this. Come on, drink some warm milk and get some rest." As she spoke, she reached for the power cord to my laptop. My fingers flew across the keyboard, hitting save. I snapped the laptop shut just before her hand reached the plug. "Can't. There's a problem with the data for the presentation. The boss just called, wants everyone back at the office to work on it overnight." "I probably won't be back tonight. I'll just crash at the office." I couldn't stand to be in this house a second longer. I had to escape. But as I grabbed my jacket, my mother darted in front of me, blocking the door. "You're my precious girl. You've already been working overtime for two weeks. I can't let you go back there." "Give me your phone. I'll call your boss and tell him you're not going. You're staying home to sleep!" She lunged for my phone. It had been like this since my very first job. Anytime she disapproved of my work hours or duties, she'd snatch my phone and call my boss to complain. I'd been reprimanded, humiliated, and forced to switch jobs more times than I could count because of her. I cherished my current job, especially this project. If it went well, I wouldn't just get a promotion and a raise; I could get transferred to the headquarters in New York. I could finally leave this family behind. The thought gave me strength. I clutched my phone to my chest and shoved her away. "Enough! I'm an adult, not a child!" "This is my job, my responsibility! You have no right to harass my boss!" I hadn't pushed her hard, but she crumpled to the floor as if she had no bones. Just then, my father and brother emerged from their rooms. My mother immediately started wailing, wiping away crocodile tears. "Lily, I'm your mother! Would I ever do anything to hurt you? How could you treat me like this?" Before I could even get a word out, my father's hand cracked across my face. "You heartless thing! Your mother treasures you more than her own eyes, and this is how you repay her!" My brother followed up with a sharp kick to my leg. "Ungrateful brat," he snarled, before turning to help our mother to her feet. "Don't blame Lily," my mother sobbed, leaning on him. "It's all my fault. I just worry about her too much." She let out a long, theatrical sigh. "I know she thinks I'm just a useless old woman. She doesn't listen to me anymore. She probably thinks I'm trying to ruin her life on purpose!" Watching her performance, I felt nothing but a dark, bitter amusement. I'd always worked so hard, but at every major turning point in my life, my mother was there, ready to sabotage me with her "good intentions." For my high school entrance exams, she "helpfully" made me a huge seafood feast. I spent the next three days with violent food poisoning and missed my chance to get into the state's top school. For my college entrance exams, she "helpfully" booked me a hotel on the opposite side of the city from the testing center, claiming it would be quieter. The morning of the exam, I was late because of traffic and missed my shot at my dream university. When I was job hunting, she "helpfully" edited my resume, inflating my qualifications and sending it out to dozens of companies. I was blacklisted by half the HR departments in the city for being a fraud. Every time I confronted her, she would dissolve into tears, apologizing profusely for her "good intentions" gone wrong. I used to believe her. Like my father and brother, I was brainwashed into thinking this suffocating interference was love. No matter how angry I got, I never truly fought back or tried to leave. But now, having been literally murdered by her "kindness," I would not make the same mistake again. While my father and brother were busy comforting the matriarch of misery, I snatched my laptop and phone and bolted out the door. Downstairs, the tires on my scooter were still full. In my previous life, she must have snuck down to flatten them after I was unconscious. I heard the frantic thud of footsteps echoing in the stairwell above. Not wasting a second, I twisted the throttle and sped out of the complex, leaving the sounds of my family behind in the dust. At the office, I slipped the security guard a fifty, begging him not to let my family inside under any circumstances. But even with that precaution, my presentation was derailed. First, a colleague's phone started buzzing incessantly. Then my boss's. Finally, even the client's phone began to ring nonstop. The client, a portly man with little patience, answered with a scowl. "Who is this? Why do you keep calling me?" My mother's shrill voice erupted from the speakerphone. "I'm Lily's mother! My daughter pulled an all-nighter for you heartless capitalists!" "I bet you vultures didn't even let her eat breakfast! You tell her to come downstairs right now! I'm waiting outside with coffee and donuts!" The boardroom was dead silent. Everyone stared at me. I snatched the phone from the client's hand. "If you ever interfere with my work again," I hissed into the receiver, "you can consider yourself without a daughter." I hung up and blocked her number before she could reply. Whether the threat worked or she had simply run out of numbers to call, the rest of the presentation went smoothly. The boss and the client loved my proposal. But when the meeting concluded, my boss still docked my pay by eight hundred dollars for "disrupting a client meeting." He looked at me, his expression a mix of pity and frustration. "The project was a success, Lily. The transfer to the New York headquarters is practically a sure thing." A jolt of joy went through me. It was the opportunity I had dreamed of—a new life, far away from this toxic mess. But then his tone shifted. "You have to get your family situation under control," he said sternly. "I'm not really fining you. That eight hundred dollars is to shut up the people gunning for your position. But if your family keeps pulling stunts like this, it affects your work, and next time, I won't be able to protect you." I understood completely. I nodded, my jaw tight. "I understand, sir. I'll take care of it." Leaving the office, I took a deep breath. The successful project was my ticket out, but the thought of returning to that house felt like a lead weight in my stomach. The moment I stepped through the door, I was greeted by the sound of my mother's theatrical sobbing in the living room. My brother sat beside her, rubbing her back. "Don't cry, Mom. Lily's just immature." "She's still young. Once she gets married and has kids of her own, she'll understand all you do for her." My father sat on the couch, chain-smoking, his face a thundercloud. Seeing me, he stubbed out his cigarette and shot to his feet, his voice booming. "So, you're too important to answer your phone now? Your wings have really grown, haven't they?" "Do you have any idea how many times your mother called? She was so worried she couldn't eat or sleep!" My mother lifted her head, her eyes red and puffy. "Lily must be tired of me," she whimpered. "I know, I just worry too much. I want to be involved in her life, but I guess I just..." She trailed off, dabbing at her eyes. My brother stood up, pointing a finger at me. "Lily, what are you waiting for? Apologize to Mom, right now! Look at the state you've put her in!" I looked at the three of them, a familiar sense of hopelessness washing over me. This was my family. They would always side with her, no matter what she did. The fault would always be mine. But I couldn't fight them now. Not when my escape was so close. I just needed to get through the next few weeks until the transfer to New York was finalized. Then they would be nothing more than a bad memory. I bowed my head and delivered the lines they wanted to hear. "Mom, I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have ignored your calls. I promise it won't happen again." My mother's sobs immediately subsided. "Lily, honey, I only do it because I love you. It's a dangerous world for a girl all alone." My brother snorted. "About time you learned your lesson." My father sank back onto the couch, his expression softening slightly. "Alright, as long as she knows she was wrong. We'll let it go this time. Don't let it happen again." I nodded meekly, and with that, the performance was over. They were satisfied. Back in my room, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The next few days, I locked myself away, focusing entirely on preparing for the headquarters' assessment and online interviews. This was my one shot to break free, and I couldn't afford any mistakes. But my mother was relentless. Tap, tap, tap on my door. "Lily, sweetie, let me in to mop the floor. How can you prepare for an interview in such a messy room?" I refused. A few minutes later, tap, tap, tap again. "Lily, I made you some soup to help your brain. You must be exhausted from all that studying." I opened the door, frowning. "Mom, I can't be disturbed right now. Can't this wait until after my interview?" Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. "Lily, I'm just trying to take care of you. I woke up at four this morning to make this soup for you. Look, I even burned my hand." She thrust her hand in my face. A small red blister stood out against her skin. My father heard the commotion from the living room and stormed over. "Lily! Your mother works herself to the bone for you, and this is how you treat her? Apologize and drink the soup!" I looked at the soup, spotting the glistening sea cucumbers floating in the broth. A wave of exhaustion hit me. "I can't eat this. I've been allergic to seafood since I was a kid." My mother waved her hand dismissively. "That was only because we were poor back then and you didn't eat it enough. If you eat more now, you'll get used to it. I'm doing this for your own good." My father's face grew darker. "Your mother got up before dawn to make this for you, and you're being picky? Drink it and stop being so ungrateful!" I saw the fury in his eyes and knew it was pointless to argue. "You're right. Thank you, Mom. I'm sorry." My mother's tears vanished, replaced by a triumphant smile. "That's my good girl. Hurry and drink it before it gets cold." I took the bowl back to my room, closed the door, and quietly opened the window. I poured the soup into a spare dish and set it on the ledge. A stray cat, drawn by the smell, appeared moments later and lapped it up greedily. A few days later, my project was officially launched to great success. My performance secured me the official recommendation letter from my company for the New York transfer. That afternoon, I aced the final online interview. I felt confident, relieved. The finish line was in sight. But when I walked out of my room, I found my mother sitting on the living room couch, wearing her reading glasses. In her hands was my recommendation letter, the seal broken, the contents spread open for her to read. I froze. No wonder she'd been so quiet during my interview. She'd found a new target. "Mom! That's a sealed, official document! Once the seal is broken, it's invalid!" I shrieked, my voice cracking. "I might not be able to report to the headquarters now!" She looked up, completely unfazed. "I was just doing it for your own good, Lily. I was worried your boss might have written something bad about you in there, to sabotage you." "Besides," she added, "what's the big deal? I can just glue it shut again." I was so frustrated I could have screamed. "It doesn't work that way! It's a legal document! Once it's been opened, it's useless! Years of my work could be for nothing because of this!" But she wasn't listening. Her face began to crumple again. "I was only trying to help you," she mumbled, tears welling up. "Why is it always my fault?" The sound of her crying was like a dinner bell for my father. He shot out of his study. "Lily! Your mother was just looking out for you! And what kind of company is that anyway? If they won't accept you without one stupid letter, they're not worth working for! All these rules and regulations, it's just a way to bully people!" He snatched the letter from my hands and, in a fit of rage, tore it to shreds.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "386476", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel