Listen here you ugly woman, I don’t want you eating at my expensive table. You eat on the floor with your kids. Also, remember to wash my clothes in the cupboard and mop the whole house. Everywhere must be sparkling clean.” My father spoke to my mother in a harsh tone, and my mother often had no choice but to obey, otherwise, he would hit her.
My mother was very scared of my father.
There was one dark, cold night when my father barged into my mother’s bedroom angrily. He grabbed her by her hair and was screaming in her face. “You cursed witch!” Next thing, he slapped her. “How dare you burn my expensive shirt.”
“It was a mistake…” my mother replied, crying as she touched her burning cheek. “I was cooking for our children, I forgot to pick up the iron from your dress.”
“How dare you say you’ve forgotten?” He snapped and threw his hands around her neck as if trying to strangle her.
“Please, let go…” My mother cried, pleading, and he pushed her toward the wall. She almost broke her head and injured her arm instead, and it was bleeding.
“Mom…” I cried when I saw my mother in distress and bleeding. I ran over to her and was crying on her shoulder, feeling sorry for her.
My father was getting scarier and more violent each day.
My mom was pregnant and hungry. She hadn’t eaten all day. My father rarely provided food at home as he used to.
He was always picking fights with my mother, sometimes calling her a “witch, a curse, ugly woman.” My mother had no choice but to bear it all because she had no family, no friends, no money, no place to go or live.
My father was all she had.
Things were getting out of hand.
My father shouted my mother’s name from downstairs, and when she managed to step down to the room in her pregnancy, he spilled a hot cup of coffee on her.
The coffee was extremely hot, and it burned her skin. She jumped up, screaming in agony.
“Shut up!” He scolded her. “How dare you serve me such tasteless coffee?”
My mother was pregnant and weak. The coffee made her feel so weary, she could not cope with the burns on her skin. I saw heavy tears rolling down my mother’s face.
My baby brother was crying, looking for our mother. He was all alone in his bedroom, hungry and restless.
My mother could not stand up from the floor. She sat, weeping, as her body was in absolute pain.
My mother was sick. She had been coughing all day and was burning with a high fever. She hadn’t eaten in five days, and she hadn’t taken any medicine either. My father had been cruel and mean to her, even when she was pregnant. He couldn’t have cared less if she died—he no longer cared for her at all.
My mother was anxious about her pregnancy. She was afraid of losing her child. One cold morning, she was mopping the floors of the living room when, by accident, the water in the bucket splashed onto my father.
In a fit of rage, he jumped up from his seat and slapped her hard across the face. “Are you blind? Can’t you see? How could you be so stupid as to splash water on me in my expensive suit, you filthy, poor woman who can’t even afford this?” he yelled.
“I… I’m sorry…” My mother continued to apologize, but before she could finish, he grabbed her by the hair and threw her harshly to the floor.
She crashed onto the hard floor, still pregnant, and screamed in agony, tears pouring from her eyes. Her face hit the dust, and her hair scattered around her like she was nothing.
“This is what you deserve!” He kicked her in the waist with the heel of his boot. She moaned loudly, the pain overwhelming her.
“Please stop… please stop… you’re hurting me!” She screamed, her voice full of desperation, but she couldn’t stop crying.
When he was done kicking her, he spat on her. “Now, I don’t want to see you eating anything in this house for ruining my expensive suit,” he snapped, his face twisted in disgust.
He turned away, preparing to leave the room, and my mother stretched out her hand weakly toward him. “Please help me off the floor… I can’t stand up…” Her voice was barely audible, filled with weakness, and it broke my heart.
My father hissed at her. “Don’t you dare speak to me! I just lost my suit because of your carelessness, and you want me to help you off the floor?”
He kicked her again, as if she were nothing but an object. She screamed in misery, unable to withstand the pain. He hissed at her once more before walking away without a second thought.
My mother struggled to sit up. As she managed to lift herself, her face went pale when she saw the blood flowing down her legs. “No… this can’t be…” she cried, her voice filled with horror.
“Help me…” she screamed, her voice echoing through the room.
As soon as I heard her cry, I panicked. My heart raced as I ran straight into the room. My mother was bleeding, clutching her stomach, her face pale and full of pain.
“Mama…” I cried, feeling a wave of guilt and fear.
“I need help…” she sobbed uncontrollably, struggling to breathe, her voice weak and desperate.
She was having a difficult time, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bear to watch her suffering, her body trembling with each breath.
I screamed for help, but my father refused to come out of his room. It felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to save her. I was helpless, watching my mother bleed, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
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