My Mother Stole My Future to Secure My Cousin’s Success

"That’s enough! Your aunt rarely visits the old house, and look at the mess you’ve made!"

"How many times have I told you to be humble and respect your elders? Instead, you always bring shame upon this family!"

I stamped my foot in frustration.

"Mom! Auntie is your sister, not mine! If you want to take care of her, that’s your business, but stop dragging me into it! Grandpa asked you to look after her—what does that have to do with me? Haven’t they done enough to hurt me already?!"

My daughter’s cries slowly quieted in my arms, but I was too anxious to care about anything else. I turned toward the kitchen, desperate to rinse her mouth.

But before I could move, my mother’s fury erupted. She raised her hand and slapped me hard, again and again.

"Unfilial daughter! I’ll beat you to death!"

"How dare you defy me!"

Julia stepped forward, pretending to hold my mother back.

"Auntie, let it go. My sister has always been like this. Don’t waste your energy getting upset."

At the sound of Julia’s soft persuasion, my mother’s expression shifted in an instant.

"Such a good child," she cooed, her anger melting away. "You are so filial. Don’t be upset, it’s not worth it."

Then she turned back to me with a glare sharper than a knife.

"You are nothing compared to your sister. Some people are just different. Why did I even give birth to such a disgraceful daughter like you?"

Julia led my mother back to the dining table, as if nothing had happened.

I felt my daughter stirring weakly in my arms. Something was wrong.

Then, I saw it.

Blood.

A small stain bloomed on my clothes. My breath caught in my throat.

"Blood! Nate! Our daughter is coughing up blood!"

She furrowed her tiny brows, her eyes fluttering shut, her little fingers clinging to my shirt with the last bit of her strength.

Panic surged through me. I turned sharply to face everyone at the table.

"Aunt, if anything happens to my daughter today, I won’t let this go! Nate, we need to get to the hospital!"

Nate, who had been lazily sitting at the other end of the table, froze at the sight of blood. Then, snapping back to reality, he bolted toward me.

He scooped up our daughter, his hands trembling.

"Hurry! Get in the car! We need to go—now!"

I scrambled into the passenger seat, my heart pounding. Just as Nate was about to start the engine, my mother suddenly rushed over, gripping the car window.

"Nate is drunk! He’s been drinking! He can’t drive!"

My stomach dropped. My eyes darted to Nate, who was flushed red with alcohol.

I turned on him, my voice shaking with anger.

"You are drunk?! How could you drink?! Our child—!"

Nate stammered, his face guilty but defensive.

"How was I supposed to know this would happen?! You know I don’t usually drink!"

My heart sank.

I didn’t have a driver’s license. There were no taxis in this remote countryside.

And today was Memorial Day. Everyone had been drinking.

Except for one person.

Julia.

She was pregnant. She must have stayed sober.

I shoved my daughter into Nate’s arms and rushed back inside.

Julia was lounging against her husband, acting coy. When she saw me storm in, she barely spared me a glance before turning away.

I knew she wouldn’t agree easily. So I begged.

"Julia, please—can you drive us to the hospital?"

She blinked at me, feigning innocence.

"Ah? Can’t my brother-in-law take you? I mean, I am pregnant."

I clenched my fists. "You’re the only one who hasn’t been drinking! I’m begging you—just this once!"

Before she could answer, my aunt stepped in, blocking me with a gentle, practiced smile.

"Nadia, it’s not that your sister doesn’t want to help you," she said, patting my hand as if she were comforting a child. "She’s carrying a baby. If something happens to the son in her belly, who will take responsibility? We must know how to seek benefits and avoid risks, don’t you think?"

My chest tightened. My daughter’s life was slipping away, and they were talking about benefits.

I clasped my hands together and turned to Julia, my voice breaking.

"Julia, your baby is only one month along. Normal driving won’t harm him! But my daughter—she’s vomiting blood! Please, have a heart!"

Julia remained where she was, leaning casually against the edge of the table.

"That’s not going to work. It’s not your child, so of course, you don’t feel sorry for him!"

I knew full well that she and my aunt had no good intentions, so I turned to my mother for help instead.

She had worked as a nurse at the county hospital when she was younger—she had to have their contact information.

"Mom, you have the number for the county hospital! Call them and ask them to send an ambulance!"

My mother’s gaze lingered on the blood staining my clothes. For half a minute, she said nothing. Then, at last, she pulled out her phone.

I breathed a sigh of relief. My daughter would finally be saved.

But before she could dial, a hand suddenly reached out and snatched the phone from her grasp.

It was my aunt.

A sinking feeling crept over me.

She switched off the screen and waved her hand dismissively.

"Sister, I’m not trying to be difficult, but calling emergency services on Memorial Day? Really?"

She shot me a scornful glare, while I stood there, trembling from sheer anxiety.

"Besides, we have a pregnant woman in the house. If hospital staff come here, what if the spirits of the dead and injured bring bad luck and harm the baby?"

The room fell eerily silent. No one dared to move, their faces clouded with unease.

My aunt smirked, satisfied, just like every other time she manipulated my mother under the guise of doing something "for my own good."

She had already caused me so much pain.

Was she going to hurt my daughter too?

No. Absolutely not.

Before she could react, I lunged forward and snatched the phone from her hand. I dialed the county hospital, ignoring the insults she spat at me.