Mrs. Hawthorne Insists I Killed Mr. Hawthorne

2

I was like a common prisoner, enduring it all, locked away in that room where I never saw the light of day.

Every mealtime, I would hear the sounds of their close bond from outside, the loving mother and her devoted son.

"Ian, you're finally back! Mom made you some Sweet and Sour Ribs and Cola Chicken Wings—they're all your favorites!"

"Mom, where's that Filthy Tramp?"

I heard the voice of my brother, Ian Hawthorne, and a chill ran down my spine. My whole body broke out in goosebumps.

"Her? Oh, she has a contagious disease. She's been locked in that room!"

Mrs. Hawthorne pointed to the small storeroom in the dark corner. It was crammed with junk, and me, treated like trash. It was pitch-black—a place where I never saw the light of day!

"A contagious disease?"

I heard this and scoffed internally, a hint of self-mockery in my smile. 'So, cardiovascular disease can be passed off as some vile, contagious illness.'

"Then... give her the leftovers. Saves us from having to feed a dog!"

Ian Hawthorne ate until his mouth was slick with grease, then disdainfully pushed aside the scattered, leftover side dishes.

But I heard Mrs. Hawthorne's voice, laced with exceptional affection and concern for him. "Ian, are you full? If so... Mom's going to take this to feed the dogs."

My brother nodded. A moment later, a sliver of light pierced through a crack, shining on me in The Storeroom.

With my hair a tangled mess like a bird's nest and my body covered in dust, I looked at this woman who was at once so familiar and yet so strange.

"Here! Take it and eat!"

She said this with a wide smile. The hunger in my stomach was unbearable. I reached out with my dirt-caked hand, trying to grab that plate of 'dog scraps.'

But in the next second, Mrs. Hawthorne dumped every last bit of the leftovers onto the floor. I could only stare, dumbfounded and aghast.

"Mom... you..."

"Who's your mom? I don't have a disgusting murderer for a daughter like you!"

Her disgust was practically written on her face. It was hard enough to breathe in here, to find enough oxygen to survive. I scrambled to reach my hands out toward Mrs. Hawthorne.

I knelt on the floor, scrambling desperately to grab the hem of her expensive clothes, but in the end, I clutched at empty air.

She spat at me in utter disgust and rolled her eyes viciously.

"Stay away from me! You wretched thing!"

She hurriedly spat out those hateful words. I looked up helplessly, as if I'd just seen my last straw of hope.

"Mom... it's all my fault. Please let me out, okay?"

I begged her, debasing myself, but even at my most pathetic, it had no effect on her. As always, she turned a deaf ear.

Finally, before she left, she glared at me and spat viciously, "Get out? In your dreams! You can just stay in here for the rest of your life!"