Escaping the Reality

Raising my daughter through hardship and sacrifice, all I received in return were her complaints.

She said I constantly pressured her and that her father treated her better.

She wanted freedom and refused to be my puppet.

During an argument, she accidentally pushed me down the stairs.

She looked at me coldly, saying, "It'd be better if you died!

Then I could go find Dad!"

Living again, if she thinks her father is better, so be it.

"All you care about is studying!

What else can you do besides forcing me to study all day?"

"You're stuck in a rut, hoping I can become something great?"

"You're nothing like Dad!

Only he truly loves me!

He never forces me to do anything I don't want to!"

The room was a mess, chaos everywhere.

Even her beloved piano was smashed.

My head throbbed as I watched my child scream at me.

"No wonder Dad divorced you. You want to control your own child!

You're nothing compared to family friend Karlee!

She's gentle and caring, unlike you, always nagging!"

My own daughter hurled harsh words at me, each one piercing.

In my past life, I didn't want to give up on her.

I didn't want her father to spoil her or her stepmother to indulge her.

But all I got was enmity with my own child.

This time, I chose silence.

I once thought I neglected her too much.

When she was five, I divorced her father, and the agreed child support never arrived on time.

I juggled two jobs while caring for her education, not wanting her to struggle like I did.

Now I realize she's an ungrateful child.

Unlike before, I didn't try to persuade her.

After she vented, she destroyed the cherished bracelet from my mother.