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Chapter 7
I bypassed overly close–knit siblings and walked directly into the house.
My stepfather greeted me warmly, but I ignored him and sat down at the dinner table.
The table was laden with a sumptuous Christmas feast, but in front of me, there was only beef, the dish I ate day after day.
Even the salad in front of me was topped with chunks of beef.
“Elena, why aren’t you eating? These are all great for boosting your iron levels. You should have some more!” Lydia said, her face beaming with a sweet smile.
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“Eat up. You still need to go to the hospital next month to give Lydia blood. Don’t pretend to be sick,” my mother said coldly, without even looking up.
She then fed Lydia a piece of turkey leg while reminding her to eat plenty of her favorite dishes.
“I’m not going to give Lydia any more blood.”
Four pairs of eyes stared at me in shock.
I dumped the beef into the trash can, then picked the largest turkey leg for myself. Ignoring their astonished gazes, I started eating and then began on another.
“Why? You’re not even sick. Why won’t you give
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Lydia blood?” Mom glared at me with her eyes narrowed into triangles from anger.
“Why, sister, did I do something wrong? Do you hate me so much? Do you want me to die? Would you be happy if I died?”
At that moment, Lydia’s eyes were filled with tears, like a wounded little rabbit.
“Then just go die already. Why are you wasting time talking?”
I didn’t look at her and said lightly, continuing to enjoy my turkey wings.
A slap landed on my face, cutting my lip and scattering my hair.
My mother stood in front of me, glaring with
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hatred.
“If anyone should die, it should be you. You should have died long ago! If it weren’t for you, Lena wouldn’t have died, and my husband wouldn’t have died! Why weren’t you the one who died back then?”
Husband?
In her mind, I had long ceased to be her daughter.
I covered my face, fighting back tears.
“Fine, if dying will solve everything, then let me die!”
She coldly replied, “Even if you die, you must settle your debt to this family. Be a proper blood
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bank for Lydia. Once Lydia is better, then you
can die.”
Her gaze was so venomous, it was as if she was looking at a repugnant criminal, not a daughter.
I stood up, preparing to leave, but she grabbed my arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I felt utterly exhausted.
I had endured for so long.
The thread in my mind was growing thinner, about to snap.
I was terrified, afraid I might lose my sanity.
During my four years of college, I battled depression, relying on medication to maintain a
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semblance of normalcy.
But they didn’t know that; they only knew how to take my blood to pamper Lydia.
My mother continued to berate me, her cruel words pouring out.
Dizzy, I grabbed a fruit knife and drove it forcefully into my arm, dragging it down.
“You want my blood? Fine, take it all! It’s all yours!”
The knife severed an artery, blood gushing from the wound.