My Blood for Her Life, My Death for His Regret

“Have you forgotten how you clawed your way into my bed and became Mrs. Foster?”

I stared at him in fear, praying he wouldn’t say more.

Sure enough, when I looked up, Mom’s face was pale as death.

No—it wasn’t true.

Grandma once told me the truth.

Richard had been drunk that night and mistook Mom for his old flame.

She hadn’t resisted.

That night, I was conceived.

Richard agreed to marry her, to “take responsibility,” but in his heart, he never forgot another woman.

So whenever they fought, he dredged up the past—claiming Mom had seduced him and deliberately kept me.

That was why he hated her, and by extension, hated me too.

In recent years, he traveled abroad frequently.

Because overseas, there was always Olivia waiting in his thoughts.

Last month, Olivia divorced her foreign husband and came back with Emily. Richard smiled like I’d never seen before.

But now, watching Mom resist, his expression turned dark, his tone threatening.

“I’ll ask you one last time—are you making that snack or not?”

“No.”

Mom lifted her chin, clinging to her pride.

“Fine. Very well.”

Richard gave a thin smile and ordered the security guards to lock her in the basement.

“If you’re of no use in this house, then you can rot down there like a sewer rat. When you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll let you out.”

That night, I cried and begged, nearly on my knees.

“Mom knows she was wrong, please don’t lock her away…”

But Richard kicked me aside.

I collapsed on the floor, clutching Mom’s leg, sobbing for her not to go.

As she was dragged away, she knelt down and gently handed me an empty box.

“Don’t cry, Sophie. You know how to fold paper stars, right?”

“When you fill this box, I’ll come back to get you. I’ll take you to Grandma’s.”

I clutched the box tightly and nodded.

“Mom, you promised. I’ll wait for you to come.”

But after that night, I never saw her again.

Olivia and her daughter became the new mistresses of the mansion.

Whenever Richard wasn’t home, Olivia dropped her act and openly tormented me.

The doll I loved—if Emily wanted it, it was hers.

The pretty dresses Mom had carefully picked out for me—because Emily didn’t like them, the housekeeper cut them to shreds.

Emily sneered down at me. “Trash like you should dress like a beggar.”

I endured it all silently.

I held onto the half-filled box of paper stars, counting the days until Mom came back.

But this time, Emily burned them on purpose.

Then she struck me hard.

A liquor bottle smashed across my body. I barely felt the pain anymore—my only instinct was to shield what little remained of those paper stars.

They were the last gift Mom had left me.

She had promised: once the box was full, she would come take me home.

But then I felt warm liquid running down my face—my head had been split open.

As I fell unconscious, I saw Richard’s polished shoes stop in front of me.

I forced a weak smile. “Daddy, I wasn’t bad…”

And Emily burst into loud sobs.