“I will not accept raising a criminal.”
I had never spoken so harshly to her before.
She froze then burst into loud sobs.
“Bad mom! Bad mom! Bad mom! I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”
“Why should I apologize to a bad mom?”
Viggo’s expression darkened completely.
“Mariah! When did you become this petty?”
“It’s just a little scratch. Is it really worth getting angry at a child over? Right now, you don’t look like a mother at all!”
I suddenly laughed.
“What does a mother ‘look like’?”
Is this the fucking face I make after giving birth, no milk, forced to drink that nasty-ass medicine?
Or when she stumbled learning to walk, I had to fucking kneel on the floor, teaching her step by step like some damn servant until she could walk?
The more I remembered all the shit I went through before, the colder I felt. I used to endure it all for the “love” of this damn family. Even if it was bitter, I swallowed it like it was sweet, thinking we were all on the same page.
But now, I know—the only ones on the same damn page are them, not me.
I endure, I retreat, I play nice, and this fucking family doesn’t change a bit.
They just take it all for granted!