The Oleander Reborn

Seeing me faint from hunger twice in just one short month, my father began to let his guard down a little around me.

Right at the moment his vigilance was at its weakest against a seven-year-old child, I delivered him a gift that nearly broke him.

…

For an entire week, I scavenged for recyclables day and night. Even on weekends, I rummaged through trash bins at the residential entrance late into the night.

My father paid no mind. To him, I was simply terrified of starving. Working myself so desperately was merely my way of trying to fill my stomach.

To keep the money from being snatched away by the older students that my father had arranged, I deliberately took half a day off on Friday afternoon and sold off the scraps I’d painstakingly gathered.

In just one week, I managed to save a whopping hundred dollars.

Clutching the crumpled bills, I first bought a switchblade from a street vendor. Then, I raced to a family restaurant for a hearty meal of pot roast before bringing home a large bag of dinner rolls.

Over the weekend, I stayed in the villa, living off dinner rolls and cold water while reviewing my schoolwork.

Nancy was my father’s informant. She wouldn’t offer any help, and neither would she interfere much with my actions.

As noon approached, the doorbell rang.

I “sensibly” beat Nancy to open the door, and saw a woman in a business suit waiting outside.

Big, wavy curls paired with a silver blazer and a fitted pencil skirt; black stockings hugging her long legs, finished off with stilettos. No wonder she had completely enchanted my father, so much so that he’d sacrifice his only daughter to pave the way for her out-of-wedlock child.

“Ma’am, may I ask who you’re looking for?” I asked politely as I looked up.

As she looked at me from above, her fake smile couldn’t hide the disgust and loathing in her eyes.

Then again, it was only a natural expression to show toward an obstacle for your future child.

“Little girl, don’t call me Ma’am. Call me Miss.”

Smugly, she looked down at me and said, “I’m here to deliver documents to your father. Is he home?”

She wasn’t surprised at all by my shabby clothes, clearly aware of my father’s ill treatment of me.

I shook my head. “My father went to work. He’s not back yet.”

“Oh? Then may I come in and wait?”

Though she asked, she had no intention of waiting for permission and moved to walk past me and into the house.

I blocked her path and held out my hand. “Ma’am, the entry fee is five dollars.”

She froze for a moment, seemingly remembering something. A vague smile flickered across her face. “Little girl, didn’t your father teach you manners?”

I shook my head again. “No. He only taught me to be self-reliant.”

She dropped her act and rolled her eyes at me. “You little money-grubber. Just you wait till your father gets home. He’ll hear all about this.”

With that, she shoved me aside and strode right in.

Nancy clearly knew her and greeted her respectfully, “Hello, Ms. Powell.”

She nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll wait for Mr. Stone in the study.”

“Ma’am, wait!”

Hearing the childish cry behind her, impatience finally flashed across the woman’s face.

She turned around. “I’ve told you. Are you ever going to…”

Before she could finish, a switchblade was already plunged into her lower abdomen.

She stared blankly at the blade protruding from her stomach, then looked at me. Her eyes were filled with confusion and shock, a total disbelief at what she was seeing.

Quickly, I pulled out the switchblade protruding from her stomach and stabbed her twice more in the same spot.

With a serious expression, I looked up into her eyes and said, “Ma’am, no money, no entry!”