After several hours of driving, we reached our parents’ house for the weekend.
When we entered the house, everyone greeted us warmly.
That’s when my six-year-old daughter rushed to the fridge and ate a slice of cake, which was meant for my sister.
Then my sister came home and without saying hello, she went straight to the fridge and started yelling, “Who ate my slice? Tell me right now.”
She saw my daughter still eating and lost it.
She started yelling and grabbed her head and smashed it hard on the table and some peace went through her face.
My daughter collapsed, bleeding.
I started to rush to my daughter, but my mother grabbed me, saying, “Do not go near her. Let your sister have her peace.”
I called 911 at that moment while my father pinned me down.
The paramedics arrived and saw what was going on inside.
They called the police immediately.
When the doctor told me what happened to my daughter, I decided to destroy all of their lives.
The drive to my parents’ place had taken nearly 5 hours.
Traffic through the interstate stretched longer than expected, but my daughter Ruby kept herself entertained with coloring books in the back seat.
She’d been excited about visiting Grandma and Grandpa all week, talking non-stop about the cookies we baked together and the stories Grandpa would tell before bedtime.
We pulled into the familiar driveway just after 3:00 in the afternoon.
The house looked exactly as it always had.
White shutters.
Rose bushes lining the walkway.
My father’s collection of vintage tools hanging in the garage.
Ruby unbuckled herself before I even turned off the engine, practically bouncing with anticipation.
My mother opened the front door before we reached it.
She wrapped Ruby in a hug, exclaiming how much she’d grown since their last visit.
Dad appeared moments later, offering to carry our bags inside.
Everything felt normal and warm, the kind of homecoming I’d experienced dozens of times throughout my life.
Ruby ran straight for the kitchen after dropping her backpack in the hallway.
I heard the refrigerator door open, followed by her delighted gasp.
She found something sweet, no doubt.
My mother laughed, telling me she’d stocked up on all of Ruby’s favorites.
I walked into the kitchen to find Ruby standing on her tiptoes, reaching for something on the middle shelf.
She emerged triumphant with a small plate containing a generous slice of chocolate cake with raspberry filling.
The frosting glistened under the kitchen lights, and I could see why she’d been drawn to it immediately.
“Can I have this, Mommy?” Ruby asked, already licking frosting from her finger.
My mother waved dismissively.
“Of course, sweetheart. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
I should have questioned it.
Should have asked whose cake it was.
Whether anyone had specifically claimed that particular slice.
But I was tired from the drive, distracted by unpacking, and my mother had given permission.
Ruby settled at the kitchen table, fork in hand, savoring each bite with a pure joy that only a six-year-old experiencing really good cake can demonstrate.
Twenty minutes passed.
Ruby had eaten maybe half a slice when we heard a car door slam outside.
My sister Vanessa’s voice carried through the front door before she even entered, sharp and irritated about something related to traffic.
Her footsteps approached rapidly, heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
She bypassed the living room entirely.
Didn’t greet anyone.
Didn’t acknowledge that we’d arrived.
She headed straight for the kitchen with purpose, yanking open the refrigerator door so forcefully that bottles rattled inside.
“Who ate my slice?” Vanessa’s voice cracked through the kitchen like thunder. “Tell me right now.”
Her eyes landed on Ruby, still seated at the table with cake crumbs around her plate and frosting at the corner of her mouth.
My daughter froze, fork halfway to her lips, confusion spreading across her small face.
“You little brat,” Vanessa shrieked.
She crossed the kitchen in three strides, moving faster than I could process what was happening.
I started to stand.
Started to put myself between them.
But Vanessa’s hand was already tangled in Ruby’s hair.
She yanked my daughter’s head backward, then slammed it forward onto the table with a sickening crack.
The plate shattered beneath the impact, and I watched in horror as a jagged piece of ceramic sliced across Ruby’s cheek, opening a gash that immediately began pouring blood.
Ruby’s body went limp.
She slumped sideways in the chair, blood spreading across her face and dripping onto her favorite yellow dress.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
