At our family dinner, I joyfully announced my pregnancy. My mom immediately proposed to my husband: “Jackson, let me find you a young, sexy nanny. Claire’s lazy by nature and now that she’s pregnant, she’ll be even less willing to do anything. A little nanny could handle the housework and take care of your sexual needs too!” My husband nearly choked on my mom’s words. I angrily slammed down my folks: “Mom, what kind of joke is that!” My mom glared at me: “I’m not joking. When I was pregnant with you, your dad was sleeping around. All men cheat, so why should your husband be any different!” A wave of anger surged through me. Just because her husband cheated, mine had to cheat too? Jackson sat there squirming. He nervously wiped the sweat from his forehead, then grabbed my hand. “Mom, please don’t test me like this. I promise I’ll never do anything to hurt Claire!” My mom’s smile froze on her face. Jealousy spread rapidly from the depths of her eyes. “My foolish child, Claire has already done things to hurt you. Why should you be faithful to her!” My eyes widened. I could barely believe my ears. “Mom, what are you talking about? I’ve never done anything to hurt Jackson!” My mom glared at me triumphantly. As if she’d been prepared for this, she pulled a crumpled piece of homework paper from her bag. She handed the paper to Jackson, lowering her voice: “This is a love letter Claire wrote to a boy in high school. I confiscated it after I found it, and I made a hundred copies and posted them all over their school.” “Writing love letters to men at eighteen—I could never do something so slutty. You know what this means? It means Claire wasn’t a virgin mentally. She was already a damaged good when she got with you.” My mom sneered. Her expression was nothing but contempt. I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my palms. My nails scraped blood from the flesh, burning hot, but I didn’t feel any pain. Those painful memories had already drowned me… Growing up, “I never had that, so why should you?” was my mom’s constant refrain. “I never wore a bra when I was young—why should you! Just wrap yourself in a piece of cloth.” “I won’t buy you sanitary pads. Nobody bought them for me when I was young—why should you use ones I buy? Figure it out yourself!” I had no new clothes, no bra, not even sanitary pads. When I was eighteen, a thoughtful boy in my class noticed my situation. Blushing, he gave me a bunch of feminine products. He quietly told me that if I ever had difficulties, I should come to him. I was so touched. I wrote him a thank-you note. But my mom insisted it was a love letter. She said I was shameless, that the boy bought me sanitary pads because I’d slept with him. My mom dragged me to a clinic for a virginity test. After getting the result that my hymen was intact, she looked dazed—even disappointed. But quickly, my mom changed her story: “So what if you’re physically a virgin? You wrote love letters to a man at eighteen—you’re not a virgin mentally! You’re worthless trash who’ll never deserve a good man.” “I was pure when I married your bastard father. You’re damaged goods, so you only deserve to marry trash in this life!” My mom took my thank-you note and rewrote it into an explicit, seductive love letter. She posted a hundred copies around the school for everyone to see. After that, the boy avoided me like I was dangerous. My classmates mocked and despised me. I had no friends. Even the teacher who’d believed in me most began treating me with disgust. Later, I got into a top university. My career got better and better. I earned more and more. My mom even apologized for what she’d done. She said she was just afraid I’d date too early in high school and ruin my future, ruin my life. I thought she’d finally changed. But now, she was bringing up old wounds again, slandering me in front of my husband!
Jackson looked confused as he finished reading the letter, then stared at my mom like she was insane: “Mom, whether this thing is real or fake, it’s ancient history.” “I don’t care about the past. I only care about the future.” “I’m happy with Claire. Don’t worry—I’ll never betray her.” Jackson squeezed my hand tight. Where my fingers had been ice-cold, his warmth gradually spread through them. Most of my anger melted away. Ever since the love letter incident, my mom kept telling me I didn’t deserve a good man. After I started working, she set me up on blind dates. A limping pauper, a thug fresh out of prison, a middle-aged man divorced three times… My mom always said since she couldn’t marry a good man, I deserved even less. But Jackson had held my hand firmly from the very beginning. Jackson’s considerate response made my mom furious. No matter what nonsense she spouted, Jackson took my side. She turned her attention back to me. “Claire, how many months along are you?” I answered cautiously: “Almost four months.” My mom smiled with relief. “Four months… heh, you should start getting stretch marks soon.” “Claire, you’re finally going to get stretch marks. When I was pregnant with you, I got a belly full of stretch marks. Your dad was so disgusted he cheated. Once you get stretch marks, Jackson will definitely do the same…” Watching the satisfaction in my mom’s smile, I shivered. A desolate sadness welled up inside me. We were mother and daughter, not enemies. Why was my mom so eager to see me get stretch marks, so desperate to watch my husband cheat? Shouldn’t a mother want her daughter to be happy? Thinking about how ugly I’d be after pregnancy, my mom couldn’t hide her excitement. She went on and on, her face animated: “Stretch marks are nothing—that’s the least of it.” “You’ll also get fat, get spots, become too ugly to look at. After giving birth, you’ll leak urine, you’ll be loose. Jackson will find touching you disgusting, and then naturally he’ll cheat.” “I suffered through all that pain—why shouldn’t you experience it too?” Even good-tempered Jackson was angered by my mom now. He glared at her unhappily: “Mom, that won’t happen.” “I’ve booked Claire a hundred-thousand-dollar postpartum care center, and I’ve hired a top-tier maternity nurse. With professional help for Claire’s recovery, she won’t become what you’re describing.” “Besides, even if Claire did become like you said, I’d only feel heartbroken and guilty. How could I cheat?” My mom’s mouth fell open, her eyes going blank. I thought she was going to make a scene. Going to complain that she never got to stay at a postpartum center when she was young, so why should I? But she didn’t. My mom just kept piling food onto Jackson’s plate in a daze, muttering “eat more, eat more.” In her eyes, there was jealousy, but more than that, there was loss and pain. My heart suddenly dropped with a sharp pang. No matter what, my mom had raised me alone. Her jealousy was real, but her love didn’t seem fake either. She was old now. Jackson and I could be patient with her as much as possible. The New Year’s dinner ended in a strange atmosphere. Soon, I reached my second trimester. Jackson took me to tour the postpartum center, only to receive a notification from the staff. “Ms. Brooks, the deluxe suite has been canceled by your mother.” “If you have questions, you should discuss it with her.” My heart instantly plummeted. I rushed home to confront her. As soon as I walked in, I was blinded by the gleaming gold bracelet on my mom’s wrist. I didn’t need to think twice to know where the money came from. I got even angrier, grabbing her hand to demand answers: “When I got married, you said you never had wedding jewelry yourself, so why should I? I felt bad for you, so I gave you all my wedding gold without a word.” “Mom, if you wanted to buy gold, you could’ve just told me! I would’ve bought it for you. Why did you cancel my postpartum center!”
The moment she heard “postpartum center,” my mom’s eyes turned red. She glared at me through gritted teeth, a bone-chilling hatred rising from the depths of her eyes. She slapped me hard across the face: “You still have the nerve to ask!” “I never got to stay at a postpartum center when I had you—why should you get to?” I covered my face, stunned. That phrase again. I felt wronged and helpless. Why? Why couldn’t my mom stand to see me doing even slightly better than her… Would a mother really be jealous of her daughter to this extent? In the moment I was lost in thought, my mom suddenly rushed over and frantically lifted my shirt. Her eyes flashed with excited light, full of anticipation: “Over five months now—you must have stretch marks by now. Let me see how disgusting your stretch marks are!” The moment she saw my smooth belly, my mom’s smile froze on her face. She rubbed her eyes, staring in disbelief again and again. Finally, she reluctantly confirmed that my belly was smooth—there were no stretch marks at all. She lifted her own shirt crying, pointing at the dark, cracked marks on her skin, glaring at me with hatred: “To give birth to you, I became this ugly. Your dad was so disgusted he cheated.” “I got stretch marks—why shouldn’t you!” My mom roared. Beyond anger, I felt a pang of sympathy. Her life really had been bitter. Maybe that bitter life had twisted her into what she was now. I trembled as I opened my arms, wanting to hug my mom, wanting to repair our mother-daughter relationship. “Mom, everyone’s body is different.” “Let me take you to get treatments, okay?” My mom also opened her arms. I thought she would hug me, accept my goodwill. But I was wrong. The next second, my mom’s nails clawed madly at the skin of my belly. She was vicious, scratching deep with each stroke. “Bullshit about different bodies! I know you secretly spent money on maintenance to show me up!” “I won’t let you have your way. I’m your mother—I have stretch marks, so you have to have them too!” I was drenched in cold sweat, nearly fainting from the pain. Looking down, I saw the flesh on my belly had been torn open by her nails. Lines like centipedes, winding and ugly, oozing blood. They actually looked like stretch marks now. To make me like her, my mom had actually scratched a pattern of stretch marks into my skin with her nails… Enough. Enough. They were already deep enough, ugly enough. But my mom seemed unsatisfied, continuing to dig her nails viciously into my flesh. I cried out for help in sad desperation: “Jackson, save me!” Jackson burst in, shocked by the scene before him. He ran toward me. I couldn’t hear what they said. I clutched my blood-drenched belly and passed out. At the hospital, Jackson held my hand in fear: “Your mom is terrifying. I’m looking into reliable psychiatric hospitals. From now on, let’s have as little to do with her as possible.” I nodded in agreement. When we returned home from the hospital, I found my mom there too. I suddenly regretted giving her a spare key to our house. Seeing my hospital gown, my mom rolled her eyes at me unhappily: “I never went to the hospital when I gave birth. You lost a little blood—why did you need to go to the hospital?” “Jackson, you need to control her. Going to the hospital wastes money. So delicate!” My heart, already torn to shreds by her, ached fiercely again. The doorbell suddenly rang. My mom happily went to answer it. She came in intimately linking arms with a young woman. The girl was young and pretty, wearing a revealing maid outfit, her bottom barely covered by black stockings. Jackson and I exchanged glances, both confused. My mom pushed the girl next to Jackson like she was showing off a treasure, giggling: “Jackson, this is Sienna. I hired her as your nanny. She’s got a great body and she’s capable—isn’t she so much better than your wife?”
Sienna shyly lowered her head, biting her lip with a smile. I stared at them coldly, my heart colder than if it had fallen into an ice pit. Here we go again. Just because my dad cheated during her pregnancy, she absolutely had to make Jackson cheat too. Before I could get angry, Jackson was already chasing them out with a dark expression: “Dressed like that—does she look like someone who can work?” “Mom, I’ll find Claire a professional housekeeper. As for this ‘lady,’ you’d better take her and leave now.” With that, Jackson pushed them both toward the door. But my mom was determined. She pressed against the doorframe, refusing to leave. She gave Jackson a sly smile: “Sienna is very capable! You have to give her a one-day trial. If she really doesn’t work out, I’ll take her away. But you can’t judge her by her appearance and take away a young girl’s job opportunity!” Sienna also blinked her big watery eyes, begging pitifully: “If I can’t find work, my family will sell me to an old man. Please, just give me one chance!” The two of them gave me such a headache. Fine. One day—what harm could they do? If they didn’t leave tomorrow, I’d just call the police. After I gave my reluctant consent, my mom and Sienna exchanged glances and smiled. They smiled brightly, but it made my skin crawl. The next morning, I woke to find the space beside me empty. I called Jackson’s name but got no response, until… until I found the guest bedroom. Jackson and Sienna were lying naked in the same bed, both flushed. I didn’t need to close my eyes to guess what had happened. Enormous pain flooded my heart. I screamed and smashed the teacup on the table. My mom walked in. She looked at me triumphantly, as if some great joy had occurred. “Your dad cheated during pregnancy—why shouldn’t your husband?” “Hmph. I married trash in this life—why should you get to marry someone as good as Jackson? Well, now it’s done. Sienna is young and beautiful, Jackson is handsome and rich. They’re perfect for each other.” My mom grabbed my arm: “Come on, don’t embarrass yourself here and disturb the lovebirds.” “Let’s go get rid of that baby, and I’ll introduce you to a man who’s really right for you. I think Brutus would be perfect.” I swallowed hard, like I was swallowing razor blades. Brutus—in his forties, half-paralyzed. Even like that, he loved to drink and beat his wife. Scum among scum. I thought my mom was just jealous of me. This wasn’t jealousy—she hated me! She was unhappy when I was doing well. She was only happy when I was miserable. Looking up, I spotted the powerful aphrodisiac on the corner of the table. My heart clenched sharply. To make my husband cheat too, my mom would stop at nothing. I shook off my mom’s arm forcefully, also shaking off the last shred of family affection. Unlocking my phone, I dialed the police: “Hello, I need to report a crime. Someone is suspected of assault and poisoning. The address is…”
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