At the family party, I found my four-year-old daughter crying in the corner with her hand twisted at an unnatural angle. My sister was standing there laughing.
“It’s just a joke. She’s being dramatic.”
When I rushed to check my daughter’s injured hand, my sister pushed me away.
“Relax. I barely touched her.”
Dad added,
“Some kids just bruise easy.”
Mom agreed.
“Stop making a scene.”
I slapped my sister hard across the face and picked up my daughter to leave behind me.
Mom cursed,
“Take your bastard child and never come back.”
Dad threw a glass at us.
“Good riddance,” my brother added. “Finally getting rid of the drama.”
I rushed my daughter to the hospital where they found her hand was fractured.
But the next morning, Mom came to my house begging on her knees.
“Please give your sister a way to live.”
The sound of my daughter’s sobbing cut through the cheerful noise of the family barbecue like a knife. I was helping my aunt carry drinks from the kitchen when I heard it—that particular pitch of pain that every mother recognizes.
Instantly, my blood turned to ice. I dropped the pitcher I was holding and sprinted toward the back corner of the yard.
What I saw made my heart stop.
My four-year-old daughter, Ruby, was crumpled against the fence, her tiny body shaking with sobs. Her left hand hung at an angle that made my stomach lurch.
Standing over her, arms crossed and smirking, was my older sister, Veronica.
“What happened?” I screamed, falling to my knees beside Ruby.
Her face was streaked with tears and snot, her eyes wide with terror and pain.
Veronica rolled her eyes dramatically.
“It’s just a joke. She’s being dramatic. We were playing around and she fell. You know how clumsy kids are.”
I reached gently for Ruby’s injured hand, my fingers trembling.
She whimpered and tried to pull away.
The wrist was already swelling, turning an ugly purple-red color.
This wasn’t a simple fall.
I knew my daughter, and I knew when she was truly hurt versus when she wanted attention.
This was real.
“Playing around?” My voice came out strangled. “Her hand is broken.”
I moved to examine Ruby more closely, but Veronica shoved me hard in the shoulder.
I stumbled backward, nearly losing my balance.
“Relax. I barely touched her,” Veronica snapped. “You’re always overreacting with that kid. Maybe if you didn’t baby her so much, she wouldn’t be such a crybaby.”
The rest of my family had gathered now, drawn by the commotion.
My father pushed through the small crowd, his face already twisted with annoyance rather than concern.
“What’s all this fuss about?”
He glanced dismissively at Ruby, who was still crying.
“Some kids just bruise easy. You’re embarrassing us in front of everyone.”
“Embarrassing you?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Look at her hand. She needs a doctor.”
My mother appeared beside my father, her expression cold.
“Stop making a scene. You’re ruining the party over nothing. Veronica said they were playing. Kids get hurt when they play. It’s normal.”
I stared at these people who were supposed to be my family, supposed to protect my child.
Ruby’s sobs had quieted to whimpers, but she was cradling her injured hand against her chest, her whole body trembling.
She was going into shock.
Something snapped inside me.
I stood up, walked directly to Veronica, and slapped her as hard as I could across the face.
The crack echoed across the suddenly silent yard.
Her head snapped to the side, and when she turned back to me, there was a bright red handprint blooming on her cheek.
“You psycho!” Veronica shrieked, clutching her face.
I didn’t respond.
I scooped Ruby into my arms as carefully as I could, supporting her injured hand.
She buried her face in my neck, her small body shuddering.
As I turned to leave, my mother’s voice cut through the air.
“Take your worthless child and never come back. We don’t need this drama in our lives.”
I kept walking, but I heard my father clearly as a glass shattered behind us.
He’d thrown it at us, missing my head by inches.
“Good riddance. You were always the problem in this family.”
My brother Aaron’s voice was the last thing I heard.
“Finally getting rid of the drama queen. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
The drive to the emergency room felt like it took hours, though it was only 15 minutes.
Ruby had stopped crying, which frightened me more than the tears.
She just stared at nothing, occasionally whimpering when the car hit a bump.
“Mommy’s here, baby,” I whispered over and over. “You’re going to be okay. I promise you’re going to be okay.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
