My father snorted, and spat, "So what if she's back? She's nothing but a lowly thing. She'll never compare to you."
My mother, full of concern, asked, "Rianne, why would you say that? Did that dirty thing bully you? Don't worry. She won't be around anymore."
Rianne didn’t deny it; instead, she smiled ambiguously. "Thank you, Mom."
My brother, Julian, laughed and said to Rianne, "Lil sis, your birthdays should be even grander from now on. After all, that idiot is out there working her fingers to the bone to make money for us."
"I heard from a friend that she's doing all kinds of filthy, degrading work just to scrape cash. Even cleaning toilets."
My mother waved her hand dismissively, her face filled with disgust. "Enough. Just thinking about that dirty thing makes me sick."
I stood at the restroom door, tears streaming down my face as I listened.
So this was how my biological family saw me.
I remembered how indifferent my mother was to me when I first came back, keeping her distance.
Once, during dinner, I finished all the food in my bowl.
Her expression changed immediately, and she looked at me with disdain.
Aunt Zamara, despite her low income, always taught me not to waste food. She worked hard to raise me, and frugality was ingrained in me from a young age.
But to my biological mother, even this was repulsive.
My mother scolded me, saying I was like a reincarnated starving ghost, eating more than a pig, completely uncultured and ungraceful. She sneered and told me that if she ever took me out, I’d only humiliate her.
From that day forward, nothing I did was right in her eyes. Even when she walked past me, she would pinch her nose in disdain.
I cried in the shower, scrubbing myself over and over, hoping to wash away whatever made her hate me. But she just scoffed as she chided me disdainfully, “Yanna, no matter how much you wash, you’ll never get rid of the stench of poverty on you. It’s in your bones.”
Slap!
A sharp pain burned at the back of my head, snapping me out of my senses.
The manager stood behind me, yelling, “What are you doing? Slacking off? Do you need a beating to wake you up?”
“If you don’t finish cleaning the restroom before your shift ends, you can lick it clean instead!”
Not satisfied with just words, he kicked me hard, and I stumbled to the ground.
Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down my face.