My father raised his leg to kick me again, but Zachary Logan grabbed his arm. "She's just a child! Don't say such things. Naomi Pope didn't drive that truck—a drunk driver did. It has nothing to do with her. Don't take your anger out on a seven-year-old."
My mother jumped into the fray, her voice dripping with mockery. "She's only seven, and she's already brought ruin to this family. If she grows up, will her father and I even survive?"
She glared at me with pure loathing. "She is a disaster star. A curse incarnate. She specializes in destroying lives."
Her sharp gaze swung to the neighbor. "Zachary Logan, since you want to defend her so badly—fine. Her grandmother is dead. You take Naomi Pope. You raise her."
Zachary choked on his words.
Before he could respond, his daughter stepped forward, finger jabbing toward my mother. "Zhang Cuicui, what is wrong with you? Everyone in the village knows you call Naomi a jinx. And you expect my dad to raise her? Why?"
She didn't back down. "This is *your* daughter. Maybe you and your husband did something evil in a past life, and she's your retribution. Who can say?"
That hit a nerve.
My mother hated nothing more than being told I was her karma. Her face twisted in fury as she lunged forward, claws out. "You little brat! You're mocking me? Your father started running his mouth first! It's easy to talk when it's not your life being ruined!"
"I think you just came here to laugh at us! I'll tear that mouth off your face!"
She moved to strike, but my father snatched a porcelain bowl and smashed it against the floor.
*Crash!*
"Enough!" His bellow shook the walls. "Why are you making a scene? My mother is dead! If you want to fight, get the hell out!"
The room fell into resentful silence.
The bowl had shattered at my feet. A jagged shard ricocheted upward, slicing a gash across my cheek. Warm blood trickled down my face instantly.
I clamped a hand over the wound, staring at my father's ashen face. Too terrified to make a sound.
"What are you standing there for?" He snapped his gaze to me. "You cursed your grandmother to death. Get out of my sight!"
He grabbed the nearest object—the pink schoolbag—and hurled it at me. It hit my chest with a dull thud.
Tears mingled with blood as I clutched the bag. I shrank back, retreating out of the main hall.
Looking down at the crimson stains on the pink fabric, my throat tightened until I couldn't breathe.