Stolen Nine Years, Courtesy of My Mother

Mom turned back to look at me with a frown. "Ever since Anna got sick, when have you ever come to the table without trying to grab her food? It's better if you eat in your room. That way it's good for you and for Anna."

However, I had never tried to take her food. I only wanted to sit there.

I wanted to sit under normal lights, like I did a long, long time ago. I wanted to watch Dad eat and listen to him talk about whether work had been tiring that day, instead of sitting alone with a bowl of stew that kept getting greasier the longer it sat.

Tears ran down my face without stopping.

Mom's expression changed a little. For a moment, something like helplessness, maybe even fatigue, appeared in her eyes.

She walked over and said gently, "Stop crying. Pick what you want to eat, then take it back to your room."

The kitchen lights were painfully bright, spilling across the counter. The blueberry cake looked soft and fluffy, with bright berries scattered across the peaks of cream. Beside it sat a platter of honey-glazed wings and a bowl of buttery shrimp piled high in a glass dish.

I reached toward the cheesecake.

"No," Mom cut in sharply.

My hand paused in midair. I withdrew it slowly and pointed to the shrimp instead.

"That's not allowed either."

She stepped forward and blocked the food. Her expression hardened with irritation. "Everything you picked is Anna's favorite. You're obviously doing this just to upset me."

Before I could say anything, she turned to the fridge, pulled out a plain bowl of oatmeal, and shoved it into my hands along with a small bag of pickled cucumbers. "There's already enough grease in that stew. You need something light."

I stared at the thin, bland oatmeal in the bowl, then glanced back at the counter, where all those colorful, fragrant dishes sat.

The resentment in my chest suddenly burst through its dam.

I lifted my head, my voice trembling with a stubbornness I hadn't even realized I had. "Mom. You always say our family is rich and that you can afford to raise me. Then why…"

My eyes swept across the counter. "Why is there only one portion of every good thing? Am I not your daughter too?"

Mom's pupils shrank sharply. "What did you just say?"

All the resentment buried inside me exploded. I didn't know where the strength came from, but I suddenly rushed forward and swung my arm hard across the counter.

The cake, honey-glazed wings, and buttery shrimp tumbled from the counter, scattering across the walls and floor and leaving a complete mess behind.

Anna ran over. When she saw the ruined food scattered everywhere, she broke down crying. "My cake! Mom! Jenna is being mean!"

Mom's face twisted with fury, and without warning, she grabbed my hair and began hitting me. Her fists and kicks fell mercilessly, leaving me unable to escape.

My nose burned, and a strong metallic taste filled my mouth.

A hard blow landed across my face. Something inside my mouth loosened and flew out. One of my baby teeth, stained with blood, rolled across the tile floor.

The world hummed painfully in my ears. Mom dragged me into the kitchen and yelled, "Clean all of this up! Don't even think about coming out until it's done!"

The door slammed shut and locked behind me.

I collapsed to the floor. My cheek burned with pain, and my entire body quivered as if it could not hold me up. To get through it, I began picking up the broken pieces mechanically.

A small white pill bottle rolled out from a corner.

It was Mom's sleeping pills. She always said she needed them to sleep. After a good night's rest, she wouldn't have to think about anything.

The thought hit me clearly. It was frighteningly tempting.

I twisted off the cap and poured the pills into my hand, swallowing them dry, along with the lingering metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

My throat burned as I forced them down, but an odd, unsettling calm spread through my chest.

I slid down to the floor and pressed my back against the cold cabinet.

I didn't know how long I had been sitting there when the door finally opened.

Dad stood in the doorway with an empty glass in his hand. He had probably come for water, but the moment he saw me, he forgot all about it.

His fingers trembled as they touched my cheek. "Jenna! Wake up!"

He tried to lift me, but I was exhausted and unbearably sleepy.

Later, I heard him shouting for an ambulance and Mom rushing over.

"Can't you control yourself for once? Would it make you happy if she died?" he snapped.

He lowered his head, carefully wiping the half-dried blood from my mouth.

Mom's voice, heavy with anguish, cut through the buzzing in my ears. "I've held myself back every single day for nine years, and I can't do it anymore! Why should I be forced to raise a rapist's child?"