My Mother, The Monster

Name: My Mother, The Monster
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Young Adult | Completed

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I gasped awake, my throat burning. Downstairs, Mom shrieked at Dad about 'Emily' again, their usual symphony of bitterness. I was used to it, used to being Mom' s property, something she controlled, ever since she trapped Dad with a fake pregnancy years ago. She never forgave him Emily, and she never forgave me for being his daughter. But this morning, a chilling memory, vivid as real life, clung to me: peanuts, my throat closing, Mom just watching. A taste of death. It wasn't a dream. It was a premonition, my own death at her hands, if I didn't act. The thought alone sent shivers down my spine. This wasn't just a difficult mother; I saw her clearly for the first time: a monster. My heart hammered, a desperate drumbeat, as every sugary word, every controlling glance, every public humiliation she inflicted felt like a suffocating vice. Dad, weak and defeated, could only offer whispered apologies, seeing my suffering but perpetually helpless. I wouldn't be her victim anymore. I wouldn't end up on that kitchen floor, struggling for breath while she calmly watched. Not this time. My resolve hardened into something cold and sharp, a desperate decision: I had to get out, and I had to take Dad with me.

Family Divorce Drama Female-centered Personal growth

Chapter 10

10-31 18:03

Introduction

I gasped awake, my throat burning.

Downstairs, Mom shrieked at Dad about 'Emily' again, their usual symphony of bitterness.

I was used to it, used to being Mom' s property, something she controlled, ever since she trapped Dad with a fake pregnancy years ago.

She never forgave him Emily, and she never forgave me for being his daughter.

But this morning, a chilling memory, vivid as real life, clung to me: peanuts, my throat closing, Mom just watching.

A taste of death.

It wasn't a dream.

It was a premonition, my own death at her hands, if I didn't act.

The thought alone sent shivers down my spine.

This wasn't just a difficult mother; I saw her clearly for the first time: a monster.

My heart hammered, a desperate drumbeat, as every sugary word, every controlling glance, every public humiliation she inflicted felt like a suffocating vice.

Dad, weak and defeated, could only offer whispered apologies, seeing my suffering but perpetually helpless.

I wouldn't be her victim anymore.

I wouldn't end up on that kitchen floor, struggling for breath while she calmly watched.

Not this time.

My resolve hardened into something cold and sharp, a desperate decision: I had to get out, and I had to take Dad with me.