The Forgotten Daughter's Return

As far back as I could remember, Mom had been locked in the storm cellar.

Whenever I got too close, she would scream hysterically and beat me.

I never understood why she didn't love me.

Until the year I turned eight, when she suddenly spoke to me in a soft, gentle voice.

She said, "Just help me make one phone call, and I will never hit you again."

My heart leaped at the promise.

I deliberately broke my own arm.

While my father rushed me to the clinic, I sneaked over and dialed the number for her.

In less than half an hour, a fleet of luxury cars tore down our dirt road.