Unloved Daughter, Unbreakable Spirit

Name: Unloved Daughter, Unbreakable Spirit
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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After three years away, the day finally came: my parents and little sister were coming home. My heart pounded with a desperate hope, imagining the hugs and loving welcomes I' d missed. But when they arrived, their eyes went straight to my doll-like sister, Brittany, leaving me, Chloe, standing invisible in the doorway. "You' ve gotten so... big," my mother, Sarah, stated flatly, her gaze making my simple clothes feel cheap and ugly. Brittany' s innocent-sounding jab, "Mommy, she looks like a country girl," was met with my dad' s chuckle and my mom' s tired smile, twisting a knife in my chest. What followed was a slow, agonizing realization: I wasn' t a daughter, but a utility. My hands bled from endless chores, yet my mother dismissed it as "attention-seeking." I overheard my father declare my future: stuck in our small town, running the family store, "good enough for her." Then came the slap-a public humiliation, a burning sting on my face for a spilled candy jar worth mere cents. Their casual cruelty overshadowed any physical pain, confirming I was nothing more than a nuisance. My grandmother, the only warmth in my world, held me as I sobbed. "Some people are just not meant to be in your heart," she whispered, her words a bitter truth. I tried again, making my mother a birthday cake with my own saved money, only for her to call it "ugly" and knock it to the floor, shattering it-and my last vestiges of hope. The final blow came when my mother accused me of theft, hitting me so hard my head throbbed, while my father stood by. Then Brittany ran in, crying over a scraped knee, and their immediate, doting concern made it sickeningly clear: her minor discomfort outweighed my brutal reality. Why was their love so conditional, so utterly, devastatingly absent for me? Why did their concern instantly shift to a superficial scrape while my pain was invisible, dismissed, or even caused by them? How could a family be so blind, so callous, to its own child? The answer solidified with chilling clarity: I was done trying to earn a love they would never give. That night, I started tearing up every academic achievement, every proof of my efforts, a quiet declaration of war: I would not be their victim.

Family Revenge Drama Kickass Heroine Personal growth

Chapter 10

07-04 16:21

Introduction

After three years away, the day finally came: my parents and little sister were coming home.

My heart pounded with a desperate hope, imagining the hugs and loving welcomes I' d missed.

But when they arrived, their eyes went straight to my doll-like sister, Brittany, leaving me, Chloe, standing invisible in the doorway.

"You' ve gotten so... big," my mother, Sarah, stated flatly, her gaze making my simple clothes feel cheap and ugly.

Brittany' s innocent-sounding jab, "Mommy, she looks like a country girl," was met with my dad' s chuckle and my mom' s tired smile, twisting a knife in my chest.

What followed was a slow, agonizing realization: I wasn' t a daughter, but a utility.

My hands bled from endless chores, yet my mother dismissed it as "attention-seeking."

I overheard my father declare my future: stuck in our small town, running the family store, "good enough for her."

Then came the slap-a public humiliation, a burning sting on my face for a spilled candy jar worth mere cents.

Their casual cruelty overshadowed any physical pain, confirming I was nothing more than a nuisance.

My grandmother, the only warmth in my world, held me as I sobbed.

"Some people are just not meant to be in your heart," she whispered, her words a bitter truth.

I tried again, making my mother a birthday cake with my own saved money, only for her to call it "ugly" and knock it to the floor, shattering it-and my last vestiges of hope.

The final blow came when my mother accused me of theft, hitting me so hard my head throbbed, while my father stood by.

Then Brittany ran in, crying over a scraped knee, and their immediate, doting concern made it sickeningly clear: her minor discomfort outweighed my brutal reality.

Why was their love so conditional, so utterly, devastatingly absent for me?

Why did their concern instantly shift to a superficial scrape while my pain was invisible, dismissed, or even caused by them?

How could a family be so blind, so callous, to its own child?

The answer solidified with chilling clarity: I was done trying to earn a love they would never give.

That night, I started tearing up every academic achievement, every proof of my efforts, a quiet declaration of war: I would not be their victim.