My mother was stunningly beautiful. But during the years my father was abroad, she was long abused by another man. On the day my father returned home, he accidentally discovered this. I thought he would be shocked, enraged. Instead, he simply closed the bedroom door quietly. Coldly locking my mother’s humiliation and tears behind that door. Mother’s body was discovered by the maid the next morning. Sinking to the bottom of the crystal-clear swimming pool. It took quite an effort to retrieve her, as a huge rock was tied to her body. The corpse was laid out by the pool. Her white dress was stained with blood, all crumpled. Burns, whip marks, and rope burns covered her entire body. The wounds were soggy, the flesh turned over and blurred, a horrifying sight. I saw that terrifying scene from afar and turned to bury my face in my nanny Rose’s embrace. She gently patted my back: “Don’t be afraid, Miss. That’s your mother.” “That’s not my mother!” I cried urgently. “I don’t want such a scary mother. You’re my mother!” Rose smiled gently: “Alright, alright, good girl, don’t cry.” As she carried me away, she said: “What a sin. With such a heavy stone tied to her body, she really didn’t want to live anymore.” I looked over Rose’s shoulder, staring fixedly at my motionless mother on the ground. How could such a delicate and beautiful person turn into a pile of rotting flesh in the blink of an eye? She had given me a sweet kiss just last night. The soft lamplight outlined my mother’s graceful silhouette as she leaned down and, for the first time ever, placed a goodnight kiss on my cheek. It was the first time I saw a glimmer of light in her beautiful but vacant eyes. It was also the first time I received a kiss from my mother. She turned off the lamp and left, but I was too happy to fall asleep. In the middle of the night, I vaguely heard a woman’s muffled sobs from outside the door. It sounded like Mother. So I got out of bed barefoot, following the sound along the dark hallway towards my grandfather’s bedroom. To my surprise, my father, who had just returned earlier that day, was standing at the bedroom door. “Robert…” Mother’s trembling cry came from the crack in the door. “Save me…” In the darkness, Father’s back was ramrod straight. I thought this was a sign of his anger about to explode. But he just slowly raised his hand and gently locked the door. … That year, I was six years old. The same age as when Grandfather George brought Mother and me home from the orphanage. That year, I didn’t understand what Grandfather and Father had done to Mother. But I knew Mother was dead. The only person in this world who loved me was gone.
Suddenly, many construction crews entered the estate. Rose said the swimming pool where Mother died was to be turned into a flower garden, on Grandfather’s orders. She also said all the ponds and shallow depressions on the hundred-acre estate were to be filled in, leaving not a single body of water deeper than an ankle. I was just a six-year-old child. Hearing that Grandpa wanted to build a flower garden, I couldn’t help but feel a bit happy. Rose pinched my nose and asked with a smile: “Your mother just passed away like that. In life, she was the lady of the Turner family, but in death, she didn’t even get a funeral.” “No coffin, no grave, and no one will remember her in the future.” “Aren’t you sad at all?” I asked innocently in return: “Why should I be sad?” “You raised me. I don’t recognize that crazy woman as my mother.” Mother was crazy. —I had heard this more than once from the servants, including Rose. Mother was spotted by the wealthy George Turner when she was six years old and became his child bride. After coming of age, she married the third young master, Robert. Two years later, Robert went to France to study. After that, Mother became mentally unstable. During the day, she would arrange flowers, read books, and brew coffee, looking ethereally beautiful, breathtaking to behold. But when night fell, she became a different person. She would cry, get angry, and smash things for no reason. I once tried to approach her, but she pointed a knife at me and yelled: “Filthy thing, don’t come near me, get away!” No one could control the young mistress when she went crazy, except for the Turner family patriarch, George. When Grandfather returned home late from social engagements, he would carry the out-of-control Mother into his bedroom. Once the door closed, it would be for the whole night… I didn’t know how Grandfather “comforted” Mother, but the next morning, she would be docile beyond belief. This cycle repeated day after day. Until recently, when a letter arrived saying Father would soon return from abroad, Mother’s mental illness suddenly improved, and she became radiant. She waited eagerly for a full month before Father finally returned in his suit. Mother had waited for her savior, but it couldn’t change her fate. That night after dinner, Grandfather still led Mother into his bedroom—right in front of Father, me, and all the servants. That night, she had desperately sought help from Father. But Father’s indifference extinguished her hope of survival. And so she hastily ended her short life. George Turner’s renovation of the garden at this time was nothing more than an attempt to bury Mother’s remains on the spot. They wanted to cover up Mother’s death. How could I let them get away with it? While everyone was busy, I secretly instructed Leo, the son of a servant, to sneak out and report to the police. Leo was the same age as me and could come and go freely without anyone noticing him. I waited anxiously at home. As it was getting dark, the police really came, and it was even a chief. Leo was brought before Father Robert with his hands tied behind his back. Father politely shook hands with the chief: “This child needs discipline. He filed a false police report. I’m sorry for the trouble, Chief Johnson.” Leo struggled a bit and shouted defiantly: “I didn’t file a false report! The young mistress really did die! I saw it with my own eyes!” “Tired of living!” Robert kicked Leo, then took out a thick stack of bills from his suit’s inner pocket. Chief Johnson accepted it, smiling from ear to ear. “No worries, Mr. Turner. If you encounter any trouble in the future, just let me know.” A young police officer suddenly interjected: “Sir, I noticed some suspicious traces around the pool. May I investigate further?” “Have you lost your mind!” Chief Johnson knocked the officer’s head hard, “Don’t you know whose estate this is? How dare you investigate casually?” Hidden behind a beaded curtain, I witnessed this entire process of collusion between officials and businessmen, and I remembered the face of that young police officer. As they were about to get in the police car, I ran out of the house and smiled as I handed candy to Chief Johnson: “Uncle, you’re so impressive. This is chocolate my father brought back from France. Please try some.” Robert patted my head approvingly, and Chief Johnson happily accepted the candy. The young police officer stared at me for a few seconds, then pulled me over and asked seriously: “You’re the Turner family’s young miss, right? Did something really happen to your mother?” His eyes were frighteningly bright. I grinned at him: “Uncle, have some candy.”
After the police left, Father interrogated Leo: “Tell me, who put you up to this?” Leo gritted his teeth and said: “No one put me up to it.” Father waved his hand, and the servants dragged Leo to the outer courtyard. Soon after, the sound of punches and kicks mixed with Leo’s wails echoed in the courtyard. I had been raised on the estate since childhood and had no friends. Only Leo, who was the same age as me, was willing to play with me. I cried and begged Father not to beat him, but Father coldly pushed me away. I rushed into the courtyard, trying to shield Leo with my small body, but Rose forcibly carried me back into the house. A boy not yet seven years old was beaten to death like this. Two young lives, gone just like that. Just because they were born humble, their lives were as cheap as grass. This resentment pressed on my chest, enough to make a child breathless, and enough to make a child grow up in an instant. The swimming pool was filled in. Many blooming flowers were transplanted to the estate. The hundred-acre estate became even more beautiful than when Mother was alive. After Leo was beaten to death in public, no servant dared to mention Mother’s matter again. Mother disappeared from this world without a sound, without a trace, as if she had never existed. In the blink of an eye, another six years passed. I learned to hide my hatred and learned how to survive in the Turner family. One day when I was twelve, I was alone in the flower garden, fiddling with the white chrysanthemums that Mother loved most in life. Suddenly, I overheard a conversation between Rose and Father. “I’ve been with you for ten years now. When are you going to give me a proper status?” Ten years? It turned out that even before Mother passed away, someone had already coveted the position of the Turner family’s mistress. Father pinched Rose’s fat bottom: “Tonight, okay?” This scene stung my eyes. It seems that being two-faced is a hereditary skill of Turner men. Soon after, I really did have a new mother. Rose, having turned her fate around, became the mistress, her triumphant expression obvious. Even her tone when speaking to me was no longer as gentle and patient as before. She eagerly took possession of Mother’s jewelry and even secretly wore Mother’s clothes, forcibly squeezing her stout body into the form-fitting dresses. When the dress split, she angrily tore the entire wardrobe of dresses to shreds. I happened to see it and wanted nothing more than to tear her to shreds as well. But a second before she noticed me, I quickly suppressed my hatred and hugged Rose’s thick waist like I used to when I was little. “Aunt Rose’s tummy has so much meat, it’s so soft and comfortable. Not like my mother who died early, she was like a willow branch, trembling in the slightest breeze.” Rose, upon hearing this, suddenly pushed me away, put on her loose clothes, and stormed off in a huff. At dinner, I deliberately put oily braised pork in Rose’s bowl. “Aunt Rose, this is delicious.” Rose swallowed: “I’m not eating it.” Father glanced at her: “No appetite?” I laughed out loud: “Aunt Rose burst Mother’s dress today, her butt was showing. Auntie must not be eating meat because of this, haha!” Father glared at me: “How can a young lady speak so rudely?” Grandfather hurried to support me: “A child her age is straightforward. Why bother arguing with her?” I stuck out my tongue playfully. But as soon as I said that, everyone unconsciously glanced at Rose… and the fat around her waist. Rose’s face, which wasn’t very fair to begin with, became even darker, but she didn’t dare lash out at me because of George’s presence. Seeing her frustrated look, my appetite grew, and I didn’t forget to sweetly please Grandfather. “Grandpa, have some vegetables.” George was so happy that he drank a few more glasses of wine. When I was sending him back to his room to rest, he suddenly grabbed my hand. Staring blankly at my face, he murmured softly: “Yvonne…” I froze. Yvonne had become a taboo word in the Turner family over the years. If George hadn’t suddenly mentioned it, people might have forgotten that it was my mother’s name.
“Grandpa, I’m Fiona, your darling granddaughter.” George came to his senses: “Fiona has grown up. Grandpa is old now, my eyes are failing me.” I giggled coquettishly, casually withdrawing my hand. Back in my own room, I pulled out an old photograph hidden in a secret compartment of my wardrobe. On the yellowed photo paper, a young woman was holding a baby in swaddling clothes, smiling serenely and happily at the camera. It was a photo taken on my full-month birthday, and the only photo of me and Mother together. At that time, Mother was still immersed in false happiness, her smile untainted. Rose had once told me some old stories about Mother. Mother was malnourished as a child and had a weak constitution. She nearly lost her life due to massive bleeding when giving birth to me. Because of her postpartum weakness, she could hardly produce any milk. And I was a particularly greedy baby, often sucking Mother until she bled, refusing to let go even then. To avoid starving me, Mother carefully selected Rose from among a hundred wet nurses. Rose told me these things intending to boast about herself. But what I cared about was how difficult it was for Mother to give birth to me, and how much it hurt when I sucked her raw. My thoughts returned to the present. My gaze slowly moved from the photo to the dressing table mirror. I hadn’t noticed that I was looking more and more like Mother. Looking at that overly delicate face in the mirror, only twelve years old. Thinking of the way Grandfather held my hand and called me “Yvonne.” I finally understood what Grandfather had done to Mother every night during those years Father was abroad.
Rose was determined to lose weight. At first, she just didn’t eat rice at each meal. Later, it evolved into not eating anything after noon each day. She did visibly lose weight, but her originally rosy and healthy complexion also turned sallow. But I thought this wasn’t enough. So I deliberately provoked her by buying posters of popular movie stars and bringing them home. I would say in front of her: “Aunt Rose, look, why are these celebrities all so slim nowadays? Do they not eat or drink at all?” Hearing this, Rose really stopped eating and drinking. Half a year later, Rose was transformed, having developed a waistline. I exaggeratedly exclaimed to the sallow and thin Rose: “Aunt Rose, did you secretly take diet pills? You’re even more beautiful than movie stars!” Rose became overconfident and intensified her dieting, almost to the point of fasting. At one dinner, Rose only chewed a few lettuce leaves before saying she was full. Robert asked: “Have you been feeling unwell lately?” “No, I’m fine.” “You’ve lost so much weight, and your appetite is so poor. Are you sick?” “You’re the one who’s sick!” Rose’s face darkened, and she put down her chopsticks. In the past, Rose wouldn’t have dared to speak loudly to Robert. Father looked at Rose in disbelief: “Have you gone mad?!” “I said I’m full, I’m full. Why do you suspect I’m sick?” Rose completely lost control of her emotions and started yelling. Robert, after all, was the young master and had never been yelled at by a woman before. He raised his hand and slapped Rose. Rose was stunned by the slap. I really wanted to continue watching the show, but I heard George’s car driving into the courtyard, so I had to quickly join the act. “Father, Aunt Rose doesn’t want to eat much because she’s afraid of getting fat. Isn’t it normal to want to look beautiful?” I smiled, smoothing things over, and added a large bowl of rice to Rose’s bowl, packing it down firmly. “Aunt Rose, you’re too thin. It’s okay to eat a proper meal occasionally.” George walked into the dining room just in time to see this thoughtful and caring side of me. “Grandpa, you’re back so early? We thought you wouldn’t be home for dinner tonight.” I enthusiastically welcomed Grandfather to the dining table. “My sweet Fiona, Grandpa missed you, so I canceled my social engagements to come back and have dinner with you.” The family started eating again. Rose stared at the rice hesitantly for a moment, then began shoveling it into her mouth like a starving dog. During the meal, I chatted wittily, making Grandfather laugh heartily. Rose, however, didn’t seem to be feeling so well, as I heard her retching in the bathroom. “Father, is Aunt Rose pregnant?” I mischievously winked. “Is that so?” Robert got up and walked towards the bathroom. As soon as he opened the bathroom door, he saw Rose kneeling by the toilet, using chopsticks to make herself vomit. There was filth everywhere. “Oh!” I covered my mouth dramatically. “You crazy woman!” Robert cursed in disgust and slammed the door shut. Crazy woman. Six years ago, people had talked about my mother the same way. Now, it was Rose’s turn. Looking at the shocked and disheveled Rose, I fanned my nose: “How disgusting.”
At sixteen, I was of college age. I pleaded with George, holding his hand: “Grandpa, all my classmates are going to college. I want to go too!” George looked at me indulgently, his eyes revealing emotions that were clearly more than just a grandfather looking at his granddaughter. “Fiona, how can other people’s children compare to you?” “If you want to learn something, can’t Grandpa just invite teachers to teach you at home?” He wanted to keep me caged, just like Mother had been years ago. “What can I learn at home? Those teachers you hire only teach simple things. The professors at university are ones you can’t hire even with money!” I pretended to be angry and shook off George’s hand. “Grandpa doesn’t really love me.” “Oh, my precious darling!” George wrapped his old hand around my shoulder, “Grandpa promises you, whatever you want, Grandpa will give you!” At the same tender age. Mother chose to get married, while I chose to go to school. I majored in medicine. The medical knowledge I had accumulated since childhood, combined with cutting-edge Western medical theories, led to a qualitative leap in my understanding. I also found an internship at a private clinic through a professor. When I didn’t have classes at school, I would help out at the clinic. One day, I saw a familiar figure sneaking into the consultation room. I put on a mask and followed, peeking through the door crack. It really was Rose. “Doctor,” Rose said, “I haven’t had my period for a long time.” The doctor adjusted his glasses: “How long?” “Six months.” “Are you pregnant?” “That’s the problem…” Rose said embarrassedly: “I don’t seem to be pregnant, but…” How could she keep her period when she wasn’t eating to lose weight? “Lie down and let me take a look.” The doctor examined her while asking: “You’re married, right?” “Yes.” “Have you had children before?” “No.” I was suddenly shocked. Never had children? Then how did she breastfeed me before?
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