Chapter 1

The day my dad remarried, my stepmother, Sharon, gently welcomed me into her home. She’d simmered chicken soup for three hours just for me.

But as I picked up a drumstick and took a few bites, she suddenly grabbed the scalding hot soup and poured it all over my head.

“Look at your wonderful daughter, David! She was born to bring misfortune to our family, wasn't she?”

I shrieked, burned and bewildered, looking at Dad, hoping he’d speak up for me.

Instead, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, slapped it on the table – a document severing our father-daughter relationship – and said coldly,

“Get out. I don’t have a daughter like you.”

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The scalding, greasy chicken soup streamed down my head.

My whole body was soaked, and the smell of chicken soup instantly filled the air.

I stood there stunned, helplessly looking at Dad.

I wondered if I’d offended Sharon somehow and wanted to apologize.

But Dad pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and slapped it on the table. It was a "Document of Severance of Father-Daughter Relationship."

“Get out. I don’t have a daughter like you.”

He finished speaking and yanked my arm, pulling me toward the door.

“Why, Dad? What did I do wrong?”

Today was Dad's remarriage, and it was my first time at Sharon’s house.

She had been incredibly gentle with me, speaking softly, smiling as she welcomed me in, and personally cooked chicken soup for three hours.

But as I picked up a drumstick and took a few bites, Sharon, who was still scooping soup for me, suddenly dropped the ladle, grabbed the bowl, and poured the soup over my head.

“What did I do to make Sharon angry? Just tell me, I’ll apologize to her.”

I shook my head repeatedly, desperately clinging to the doorframe, demanding answers.

Dad pried my fingers off the frame one by one, replying,

“You have the nerve to ask? I'm too ashamed to even answer you. Do you think what you did was something to be proud of? Mia, I can’t believe I raised a daughter like you!”

He shoved me to the ground, followed by the deafening slam of the door.

The sound rattled me, leaving my ears ringing for a long while.

I stumbled to my feet, messy like a drowned rat, and left.

Growing up, Dad always treated me like the apple of his eye. If I accidentally bumped a table corner, the next day, every corner would be padded with soft protectors.

But why today…

I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, so I called Grandma Martha and burst into tears.

Thankfully, Martha was still on my side, promising to call Dad and give him a piece of her mind.

I choked back tears, my shoulders trembling uncontrollably:

“Grandma, I was so careful at Sharon's house, I didn’t dare touch anything.”

“I even helped her with chores, helping her chop vegetables while she was cooking.”

“All I did was eat one chicken drumstick, and she poured the whole pot of soup on me.”

“Was that chicken some kind of golden goose? That precious?”

But when I mentioned the chicken drumstick, Martha’s tone instantly turned cold:

“You ate the chicken drumstick?”

I mumbled a "yes," completely confused.

“Yes, I did. Was it really a golden goose? I had no idea that chicken was so precious. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have touched it.”

Martha cleared her throat on the other end of the line, saying sternly:

“Tell me exactly what happened that day, don’t leave out a single detail.”

A strange nervousness crept into me as I started recalling the scene of eating the drumstick, describing even the color and pattern of the soup bowl in detail.

“And then I just ate a chicken drumstick, and before I even had a chance to drink the soup, all that happened.”

Before I could finish, I only heard a busy tone.

I thought Martha had hung up accidentally.

I called back, only to hear:

“The number you have dialed is busy. Please try again later…”

I tried several times, but it was always the same. Grandma Martha had blocked me.

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