The Price of Their Twisted Art

I was rinsing shampoo from my hair, my head bowed. The moment I opened my eyes, the sight of dot stickers on the mirror and lotus pod pictures on the wall made me recoil in shock, slamming my body into the glass shower door.

A sharp pain shot through me, and my vision exploded with stars. I cried out to Caleb for help.

He was standing right outside the bathroom door; I could see his shadow.

"Coralie, your ankle’s healed. It's time to clean the guest bathroom. You need to start your exposure therapy."

"If you're still this scared, Willow will feel guilty. You should think of her. After all, in this house, you're the only one who doesn't appreciate this kind of art. You're the odd one out."

Utterly desperate, I scrambled onto the toilet, trying to get higher.

The images assaulted me, closing in from all sides.

As I climbed onto the windowsill, a suffocating fear tightened its grip on my heart.

The dense patterns triggered a full-body terror. Forgetting I was on the second floor, I leaped out.

Right up until the moment I died, I couldn't understand.

Why would they do this to me?

I had always known my daughter pursued her so-called "art."

But Willow had also always known that I was terrified of dense patterns.

It wasn't until my rebirth, hearing Willow's laugh, that I finally understood.

She was Caleb's daughter, through and through.

All the love I had poured into her couldn't change the cold-blooded nature she'd inherited from him.

She, like Caleb, was born with a love for this kind of cruel art. And like Caleb, she looked down on me.

"You bought a lizard and put up those pictures, didn't you? I heard everything, so why won't you admit it? You know I'm scared, why do you have to push me like this!"

Remembering the moment of my death, I couldn't stop myself from snapping.

Willow was stunned into silence. After my outburst, I hung up.

Caleb sent a barrage of texts, berating me: "What are you freaking out about? Is this how a mother should act?"

"Didn't we agree to treat our child as an independent individual? To respect and love her? If you can't even do that, why did you become a mother in the first place?"

"So what if Willow likes it and wants to do an art project? Is it such a big deal?"

"She's already crying, and you're still not coming home. Are you just abandoning this family?"

"Coralie, are you done with your tantrum? Do you still think you're some little girl and we're just dating? That everyone has to coddle you?"

"Still not home. Who's going to make dinner."

"Did you get the concert tickets Willow wanted? I don't care if you're not attentive to other things, but you can't even satisfy your own child with one concert!"

I found it laughable. I had given everything to this family, yet in the eyes of this father and daughter, I was still an inadequate wife and an inadequate mother.

After we got married, I felt our financial situation was just average, so I wasn't in a hurry to have children.

But Caleb insisted I was getting older, and if we waited, my egg quality would decline. He claimed it would be hard to conceive, and any pregnancy would be prone to miscarriage. Even if I were lucky enough to carry to term, the child would have a weak constitution.

I was so consumed by anxiety that it never occurred to me Caleb was five years older. If anyone's fertility was a potential issue, it should have been his.

Later, when I was pregnant, Caleb would touch my belly every day, saying that when the baby was born, he would personally guide them, ensuring they grew up independent, outstanding, and respected.

Seeing the fatherly love on his face, I felt so lucky I hadn't chosen the wrong man.

He said I needed to rest and wanted me to shut down my design studio early for the pregnancy.

I was reluctant. My studio was just getting off the ground, and closing it now meant all my previous efforts would be for nothing.

But he gave me a look of contempt. "From the moment you got pregnant, your clients started losing confidence in you. Not closing it now would be the real loss."

It was an argument I couldn't win. I walked away from the studio, feeling my partners' pitying, confused stares on my back.