Chapter 4

Helen set her plate down and glared at me, her brow furrowed in irritation.

"I... wanted some water."

My lips were pale from the pain, and my voice shook.

But Arthur walked over, pointing his camera directly at my face.

"Chloe, we have rules. Everything you consume in this house must be earned through labor."

"Who gave you permission to just take water?"

His camera was his favorite tool of humiliation.

He loved recording my most pathetic, shameful moments so he could play them back later to "remind me to obey."

Helen leaned back on the sofa, her voice dripping with cold indifference. "We strictly discipline you because we want you to be independent. We want you to understand that only hard work gets you fed."

"But since you love taking shortcuts so much, fine. Warm water is ten dollars a cup. Cold water is five."

She held out her hand, staring into my eyes.

"Pay up, and you can drink as much as you want!"

There was absolutely no warmth in her voice.

Lily sat nearby, eating her cake, her face covered in frosting.

"Chloe, don't you have any money? You're so pathetic. Imagine having to pay for water in your own house..." she giggled innocently.

My parents laughed along, completely unbothered.

At this point, I couldn't even feel the pain in my heart anymore. It was numb.

With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my remaining cash.

"Fine. I’ll buy it."

I counted the bills and placed them in Helen’s palm.

"I want a cup of warm water."

Helen froze, clearly not expecting me to actually have cash.

But she quickly pocketed the money.

"Hmph, let's see how much money you have left to waste!"

She turned back to resume Lily’s birthday celebration.

I huddled in the dark corner of the kitchen, swallowing the pain pills with my expensive cup of warm water.

The medicine took a long time to kick in. It wasn't until midnight that the pain subsided slightly.

Under the moonlight, I pulled out a small notebook. It was a diary of all my labor and punishments.

I wrote down the very last entry.

Then, I slipped my crumpled terminal diagnosis sheet into the very first page of the notebook.

I spent the rest of the night scrubbing every single floorboard in the mansion. I cleaned every corner until it was spotless.

I washed all the dirty laundry and hung it up on the balcony.

By the time I finished everything, it was 4:00 AM.

I was breathing heavily, but I didn't dare rest.

I threw my worn-out backpack over my shoulders. Inside, there was only the bottle of pain medication.

I turned around.

I took one last look at this house where I had lived for six years—a place that had not given me a single happy memory.

Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad.

I have paid back every debt I owed you in this lifetime.

If there is a next life, I would rather be a blade of grass by the road than your daughter.

I pushed open the heavy front door and walked out into the endless, freezing night.