Mom, Please Love Me

I have a secret. Every year on my birthday, I'm taken to the blood donation room and made to give 400cc of blood. All because my mom once told me that the blood running through my veins belongs to a rapist. This is the only way I can wash away my original sin. Because of those words, at eighteen years old and weighing less than 80 pounds, I found myself lying on that donation chair once again. But the second I stepped out of the donation room, a document came flying at my face. I looked up in shock and met my mother's icy stare: "Sign it, and get the hell out of my house." It was a legal notice cutting all ties with me. I stood there frozen, cold down to my bones. Mom—didn't you say that once I'd donated blood eighteen times, I'd finally be your clean child? Chapter 1 I looked up in shock and met my mother's cold, indifferent face. But all I saw in her eyes was eighteen years' worth of disgust. I clenched the hem of my shirt, my voice trembling. "Mom… didn't you say that once I'd donated blood eighteen times… I'd finally be your clean child? So why are you still throwing me away?" That one sentence seemed to ignite something in her. "Clean? What right do you have to be clean?!" She lunged at me, her fingernail digging into my forehead like a dagger. "Those eyes of yours! They're exactly like that monster's! Every time you look at me, it's like you're reminding me of how filthy that night was! How disgusting! Why don't you just die?! Why?!" I didn't have time to dodge. She shoved me backward, and I stumbled, my back slamming hard against the wall. The pain shot through me. It hurt so much I couldn't even speak. My younger sister, Alice Ballmer, rushed forward at just the right moment, wrapping her arms around our hysterical mother, tears streaming down her face. She turned to me and snapped, "Iris! You're so selfish! You know full well you're nothing but an ineradicable stain, and yet you still provoke Mom like this—are you trying to drive her to her death?!" A stain? I froze. Bits and pieces of the "past" that the adults in my family had occasionally let slip started surfacing in my mind, fragmented and hazy. Before I ever existed, my parents had been deeply in love, about to walk down the aisle. But the night before their wedding, my mother was attacked—dragged into an alley by a drunk stranger. When they found her, there wasn't a single spot on her body that wasn't bruised or torn. She was barely clinging to life. From that day on, my mother fell into an abyss. To help her heal, my father took her traveling, to therapy, tried everything he could to pull her back from the edge. Eventually, she slowly opened up again, and they finally held the wedding that should have happened years ago. Later, she got pregnant. It should have been a joy—but the ultrasound revealed twins. The doctor delivered the grim news: based on the timing, one of the children was not my father's. It was most likely the rapist's. But because they were twins, a forced abortion would put my mother's life at risk. She had no choice but to carry both to term. From that day on, I became this family's eternal shame. My very existence was a constant reminder to everyone that the unspeakable horror truly happened. Every single night since I could remember, I'd hear my mother next door, cradling my sister in her arms, humming a soft lullaby. And me? I could only curl up on my cold iron bed frame, hugging myself tight. I'd pat my own back, over and over, just the way my mother did with my sister—trying to soothe myself to sleep. I'd always known my mother hated me. But it wasn't until now that I finally understood the real reason. So this was it. She hated me because of these eyes? Watching my mother scream and thrash in agony, I felt a gaping hole tear open in my chest, letting in nothing but freezing wind. Chapter 2 "Sign it! Sign it right now!" My mother's voice was raw and cracking as she pointed at the disownment notice on the floor. I stood there frozen, tears streaming down my face, but I couldn't force myself to move an inch. "Enough!" A low, stern voice cut through the chaos. My father, George Ballmer, hurried over. He glanced at my mother, who looked half out of her mind, then shot a quick look at me. He gripped her trembling shoulders, his voice laced with a weariness he could barely hide. "Cassandra, calm down! We're at a hospital. If you want her to sign and fingerprint it, we can do that at home with an ink pad. How is she supposed to do it here?" At that, my mother stopped. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto him with a deadly stare. The next second, she tore herself out of his grasp. She rushed to the trash can in the corner and—to my horror—fished out a used single-use lancet from the blood donation kit! "Need an ink pad? Use this!" She lunged at me, cackling, and grabbed my left arm—the one I'd just donated blood from—with terrifying strength. "Mom, no!" I tried to pull away in terror, but my body was too weak from blood loss to fight back. "Cassandra! Have you lost your mind?!" My father tried to stop her, but she shoved him aside. Before I could even struggle, she drove the lancet straight into my hand. The pain was searing—like a knife through bone. I screamed. Bright red blood welled up instantly. She gripped my finger tightly, her eyes wild, and pressed it hard against the signature line on the disownment notice. A blurred, distorted blood fingerprint stained the paper—and it burned like fire right through my chest. Staring at that print, my mother let out a raw, hysterical laugh and finally let go of me. Then, overwhelmed by the outburst, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed. "Cassandra!" "Mom!" Chaos erupted around me. My father and sister rushed to her side in a panic. But I was dizzy, my vision swimming. I collapsed to the floor and blacked out. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in that familiar, cramped storage room. From outside the door came my mother's sharp, anguished sobbing, mingled with my father's helpless attempts to soothe her. "George! I can't take it anymore! Every time I see her eyes, I want to die! Look at my arms—just look!" I cracked the door open just a sliver. Through the gap, I saw my mother's pale arms—crisscrossed with knife scars, old and new, a horrifying sight. My father held her, his voice heavy with pain. "I know. I know how much you've suffered..." Everyone crowded around her, hearts aching for her pain, doing everything they could to comfort her. But not a single person thought of me. I looked down at the back of my hand. It was swollen into a huge, angry bump, bruised purple and blue, so painful I could barely bend my fingers. The puncture wound on my arm was ringed in black-and-blue too, and every tiny movement sent a shooting pain through me. I quietly closed the door and buried my face in my knees. I knew, deep down, that my suffering meant nothing compared to hers. … Late at night, the villa finally fell into dead silence. My mother had been sedated and was asleep. My father and sister had retreated to their rooms. I carefully pushed open the storage room door and crept into the kitchen, like a cockroach afraid of the light. My arm was still throbbing with a dull, burning ache. I thought maybe some ice would help—take the edge off. Tiptoeing to the fridge, I stretched up on my toes, trying to reach the ice tray. Then, out of nowhere, a cold voice cut through the dark behind me. "Thief." I flinched so hard my whole body jerked. I spun around. Alice was leaning against the kitchen doorway, a sneer plastered across her face. "I—I just wanted some ice..." I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. She walked toward me slowly, step by step, her eyes dripping with pure malice. Chapter 3 "You almost killed Mom just now, and now you're trying to steal food? Like a filthy little bitch like you even deserves to use anything in this house?" I lowered my head and didn't dare talk back. In this family, my sister was always the princess on a pedestal. And me? Even breathing was a crime. "I'm sorry. I know—it's my fault." Alice let out a cold laugh and stepped closer, her voice dropping to a bone-chilling level. "Since you know you're guilty, then you need to pay the price!" My right eyelid twitched violently—and that's when I saw it. She was holding a gleaming fruit knife in her hand. "It's because of those disgusting eyes of yours! Mom can't eat, can't sleep—you've tormented her until she's barely even human anymore!" My face went pale. I stumbled backward in terror. "If I just gouge them out, Mom will never have nightmares again!" Alice's face twisted with madness as she raised the knife and lunged straight at my eyes. "NO!" Survival instinct took over—I threw my hands up to shield myself— "AH—!" A shriek tore through the night. The knife clattered to the floor. Alice stumbled and crashed to the ground, a gash now slashed across her arm, blood pouring out instantly. "What happened?! Alice!" My mother's terrified voice rang out from the staircase. When she saw my sister lying in a pool of blood, and me standing there frozen like an idiot, every last trace of color drained from her face. "Iris! I'll kill you!" My mother charged at me like a rabid lioness. My father and the servants were roused by the commotion and came running. "Mom! Iris said you think her eyes are disgusting, so she said if she gouged out my eyes, then you'd think mine were disgusting too, and we'd finally be the same! Mom, I'm so scared..." Alice sobbed and threw herself into my mother's arms, tears streaming down her face like a perfect little victim. I couldn't defend myself. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." My mother wouldn't listen. She turned to my father and screamed, "Hurry! Save Alice! Use the best medicine—don't let it scar!" She didn't spare me a single glance. If she'd just looked at me one more time, she would have seen my swollen hand, my purple-and-blue bruised arm... In that moment, a cold, suffocating despair completely swallowed me whole. So it didn't matter how obedient I was, or how much pain I endured. In this house, I would always be the one who didn't belong. The rush to the hospital was chaos. Everyone crowded around Alice, who'd lost too much blood. I was left behind in the corner, forgotten like a ghost. In the emergency room, the doctor worked frantically to stitch up my sister's wound. "The cut is too deep. She's lost a lot of blood—we need to transfuse immediately. Family members, get ready!" My mother was sobbing uncontrollably. My father paced the floor in agony. I stood at the entrance of the ER, my gaze drifting—and landing on a scalpel lying nearby. A mad thought took root in my mind. What if... I didn't have these eyes anymore? Would everything finally be okay? Mom would be happy. Alice would feel safe. This family might finally return to the happiness it was supposed to have. I stepped forward, one slow step at a time. I reached out and wrapped my hand around that scalpel. The cold steel against my palm sent a chill straight to my heart—but somehow, it brought me a strange sense of calm. I had made up my mind. I raised the scalpel high and, with every ounce of strength I had, drove it straight into my right eye. Then came the searing, unimaginable agony. "AHHHH—!!!" The scream tore from my throat—and no one could ignore it. Chapter 4 I curled up on the floor, writhing in agony, the pain so unbearable I could barely think. Blood poured through my fingers in a hot rush, staining the floor a deep, vivid red. "Iris!" "Oh my God—what did she do?!" My father and the doctors were frozen in shock for a moment, then swarmed around me. "Her eye! Someone look at her eye!" A nurse screamed. The pain was so intense I was on the verge of passing out, but I bit down hard on my lip and forced myself not to scream again. Through the blurry haze of my left eye, I saw my mother's face—pale, stunned, frozen. I trembled, mustering every last shred of strength to push out the words, "Mom… now… you won't have to see my eyes anymore…" A pool of blood spread across the floor beneath me. For just a split second, something flickered in my mother's eyes—something almost like shock. But the very next moment, her gaze landed on Alice lying in the hospital bed, and her expression went cold again. "Doctor! Take Iris's blood first! She's type A—you can use her blood to save Alice!" My heart plummeted in that instant. The ache in my chest seemed to drown out even the searing pain in my eye socket. I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat felt tight, locked shut. Mom… in your eyes, is my life really worth that little? The doctor who'd been examining my wound hesitated. He spoke carefully, his voice uneasy, "Mrs. Ballmer, Iris just donated blood not long ago. Drawing more from her right now could put her life in serious danger…" My mother cut him off, nearly hysterical, "I don't care! Even if it takes her life to save Alice's, she deserves it! She owes this to Alice! She owes it to this family! Just draw it already!" The doctor looked at my mother's frenzied state, then down at me—barely clinging to consciousness. In the end, he let out a helpless sigh and reluctantly began preparing the blood draw equipment. It had only been a few hours since my last donation. And now, that cold needle was piercing my arm all over again. But strangely, this time, I couldn't feel the pain anymore. Everything in front of me was a blur of red. I struggled to keep my one good eye open, watching as my blood flowed through the tube and into the collection bag. And in my chest, for the first time ever, I felt something like peace. If I could trade my life for my sister's, would Mom finally stop hurting? Would this family finally go back to normal? That would be fine. That would be for the best. The world around me slowly faded to black. The sounds grew distant, muffled. Just as my consciousness began to slip away, I heard the doctor's voice, tinged with panic. "Mrs. Ballmer… are you sure you want to continue? Iris doesn't seem like she can hold on much longer." Even though I was exhausted beyond words, even though I could barely keep my eyes open, I found myself holding my breath—waiting for my mother's answer. Then, her voice cut through the fog, cold and hard, "Keep going." Those two words hit me like a sledgehammer, shattering the last fragile shred of hope I'd been clinging to. All the strength drained out of me. I was tired—so, so tired. My eyes fluttered shut, and I felt myself slipping away. Suddenly, a nurse burst into the blood draw room in a panic. "Dr. Henwick! Wait! Alice's blood isn't type A!" The doctor froze mid-motion. "What?" The nurse held up the lab report, her voice trembling with disbelief. "She's type O! Alice is type O!" My mother lunged forward and snatched the paper from her hands. All the color drained from her face in an instant. "No… that's impossible! How can that be?!" She whipped around to look at me—still strapped to the blood draw chair, my face ashen and lifeless.