My Mother Killed Me For Her Stepdaughter novel Chapter 63

I stared at her, my pupils contracting sharply.

Is this really me?

Her exposed skin was covered in bruises, purple and blue scars marking every inch. Her hands, once skilled in playing the piano, trembled uncontrollably. There was a weary smile on her face, but she looked utterly exhausted.

They hadn't had much time together before the door was violently flung open.

It was Andrew. Reeking of alcohol, he stumbled in and collapsed onto the sofa, muttering about water. She poured him a glass, her hands shaking as she offered it to him. He took a sip, then spat it out, sending the glass crashing to the floor. "Ugh, I said hot water! Don't you understand?"

She nervously poured him a fresh cup of warm water, but he was still dissatisfied. He grabbed a broom and struck her with it, his face contorted with rage.

"Marrying a worthless piece of trash like you was a mistake! Your parents are something else—donating all their wealth and not leaving a penny for you!"

Curled up on the floor, she whimpered in pain, pleading for mercy. "Please… stop… let me go."

Elisa rushed forward, crying out, "Daddy, stop! Don't hurt Mommy anymore!"

But Andrew only grew more furious, swinging the broom at Elisa as well.

"Crying, crying—always crying! You're useless too, wasting my money, you little brat!"

She shielded Elisa with her body, sobbing, "She's just a child, Andrew! Don't you have any humanity left?"

Her words only enraged Andrew further, and he hit harder, more viciously.

It felt like an eternity before he finally grew tired and stumbled off to the bedroom to sleep. She lay there, barely alive, her body covered in red welts, yet she still tried to comfort Elisa.

"Mommy doesn't hurt… don't cry."

Watching this scene, tears poured from my eyes.

Hector's eyes were red as he held my hand. "Please, don't be so reckless next time."

"Elisa… where is she?" I asked, my voice trembling as I recalled the tiny figure falling into the reservoir.

"Who's that?"

Seeing their confused expressions, I was stunned. "Do none of you remember?"

I recounted everything about her, but they all insisted it must have been a hallucination from the impact.

It couldn't be. She felt so real—how could she have been a dream?

I searched the house frantically, looking for any trace she might have left behind, but there was nothing. She hadn't left me a single thing to remember her by.

Then, one day, Hector handed me a letter.