Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen Who Killed Her?

Nice to see you back, doctor.At least one of us was relieved.It's just embarrassing for you - I've always felt that you should take a break from these dark and depressing things.Although you hide it very well, I know that these things have also affected you.During our first therapy sessions, I noticed that whenever I got to something tense, you would tear off a corner of your notepad and crumple it into a ball.The faster you knead, the more these things affect you.We all reveal our innermost secrets in one way or another. As I said, I'm glad you had a good time on vacation, and I'm even happier when you come back.I really needed your help last week.No, not just because of the feeling I was talking about last time that there was always someone trying to get hold of me, even though that feeling was always there, but because of another thing.I saw my ex-boyfriend Luke, at the grocery store, picking apples with another girl... God, the way he smiled at her made me want to die.She tilted her head, wearing a tight white turtleneck and smart jeans, smiling happily because of something he just said...

I didn't want them to see me, Luke's big smile turning into pity and pity, so I ducked around the corner.Then he threw the shopping basket in the middle of the store and walked out with his head down.I jumped into my car quickly, my heart pounding.Desperate to get out of here but careful not to rattle the tires too much, I pulled into the back of the shop and parked far enough away from all the cars to put my head on the steering wheel and cry out loud . She shouldn't be there.he's mine.I should be the girl picking apples with him.In the end, I drove home anyway, I couldn't hold back my tears, I didn't buy anything.That night, I ate hard cheese and expired biscuits, and as I ate, I imagined them hugging and sleeping in bed on the weekend, and maybe he would stroke her beautiful long hair and give her a sweet kiss.I even pictured them getting engaged and naming their future children.

In my few seconds of imagination, he looked so happy, I wanted to be the only woman who could make him happy.I say this now and it makes me feel crazy.I know I should wish him well and want the best for him, but, my God, does it have to be like her?She was literally flawless blonde, so pure in her white turtleneck, I felt dirty just looking at her.I used to love to dress like her, and I wanted to. I don't know if this girl, this stranger knows everything about me.She's supposed to be a nice guy—everyone he's dating is supposed to be a nice guy.Maybe she will feel sorry for me.God, I hope she doesn't.I have enough self-pity for myself.

After that freak killed the duck, I felt like a part of me was ripped apart, leaving a black hole.The fear inside me was like a giant invisible hand, grabbing my insides.In the next few days, whenever I saw him pick up my daughter, look at her, or even walk by the basket where she slept, I felt that hand seemed to hold tighter. One morning, she was fussing again in bed, and I was about to hug her, but the pervert beat me to it.He was holding the baby, and the baby was making a faint cry, and he was rocking her up and down in his arms.He put his face in front of her and said, "Don't cry." I held my breath, and she actually calmed down, and he smiled proudly.I knew it was his shaking rather than his commands that quieted her, but I didn't want to kill myself yet, so I wasn't going to correct him.

"She's very obedient," he said, "but, at this age, their brains are like sponges, and they're easily poisoned by society. It's a good thing she's here. Here, she'll learn the right values, and I'll Teach her that she first has to learn respect." God, what am I going to do? "You know, sometimes a child will test the limits of an adult, and she may not understand what you are trying to... teach her. It doesn't mean she's a bad child, or that she doesn't respect you, but it's just It's just kid behavior." "No, this is not a child's behavior, this is what the parents allow them to do."

He didn't seem to be angry because of my words, so I continued: "Maybe it's a good thing for children to be curious and like to challenge authority? You once told me that the women you used to know were always choosing men and careers." Making bad decisions, maybe the reason they are rebellious is because they didn't have the opportunity to think for themselves when they were young." He still said calmly: "Did your mother do that? Teach you to think freely since you were a child?" Yes, on the premise that my thinking is completely consistent with hers, of course I can think freely.

"She didn't, and that's why I want my daughter to have a better life. Don't you want your child to have a better life than you?" He stopped. "What do you mean?" It's over. "It's not interesting! I was just thinking, maybe you have some expectations for your daughter..." "Expectations? Yes, I do expect her, Anne. I want my daughter to respect her father. I want my daughter to grow up to be a lady, not a slut who sleeps with men. I don't Think I have high expectations, what do you think? Or, are you going to raise my daughter to be a slut?"

"That's not what I meant at all..." "You know what girls grow up to think they can do whatever they want? I worked in a lumberyard for a while." Is this freak a lumberjack? "There was a female helicopter pilot there. She said her father told her she could be anything she wanted to be. What a stupid thing to say. When I knew her, her boyfriend - a fool logging Workers just dumped her." He doesn't seem to have a good impression of the lumberjack, maybe he's not a worker but a foreman, or works in an office. "I listened to her talk about this Neanderthal and made her cry on my shoulder for six months. She said she wished she could find a good man, so I was going to ask her out, and she said she Not ready. So, I waited and waited. Suddenly one day she told me she wanted to go for a walk. Go alone. Minutes later I saw her ex-boyfriend leave the lumberyard too, and I followed behind him."

He held the child in his arms, shaking faster and faster, and the child began to cry softly. "They went off to the woods, laid on a blanket, and she let this man, this man she despises, this man who once dumped her like trash, let him do whatever he wanted with her. So, I've been When he leaves, I want to talk to her, I want to tell her that he will only hurt her again, and she tells me to mind my own business, and then walk away. Get away from me! I did so for her Duo, I just want to protect her, but she still has to go back to that man. I have to save her. I have no choice." He hugged the child tightly.

I held out my hand and stepped forward. "You hurt her." "It was she who hurt me." The child began to howl, and he suddenly lowered his head, looking at her, as if he didn't understand why he had a child in his hands.He stuffed the baby into my arms, almost dropped her, and headed for the door.He grabbed the door frame with both hands, turned his head and said to me: "If she is like them in the future..." He shook his head. "I'm not going to let that happen." Then he walked out and closed the door, leaving me to comfort the kid.How I wish I could burst into tears.

An hour later, he came back, his face very calm, and he went to the basket where the child was sleeping. "Annie, I think you should know what I'm keeping her away from—I'm keeping her away from disease, drugs, and hooligans running around in the streets—you should ask yourself what is most important to our daughter. Well, what's best for yourself..." He leaned over and looked at her with a smile. "You'll see, by now, that you should put her life above yours." He looked up hard at me, and the smile faded away. "Can you do it, Annie?" I looked at his hands on his daughter's tiny body—hands that killed at least one man, and God knows what else he did to the female pilot. I lowered my head and said, "Yes, yes, I can do it." For the rest of the day, every nerve in my body was yelling "run" at me, but the adrenaline that couldn't be released in the body made my legs ache.My hands trembled—I dropped dishes, clothes, soap, whatever.The angrier he got, the more things I dropped and the more cramp my legs got.Even the slightest movement can startle me, and if he walks fast, my blood starts to come up and I break out in a cold sweat. The next day, he took out a small bag, packed a few changes of clothes, and went out without saying where he was going.I was relieved at first, but then grew more and more concerned that he had had enough of us, mother and daughter, and would never come back.I felt the walls of the hut from top to bottom, but could not find any exit.The next day, he came back and I don't know what I'm going to do to get my baby out of this hell. Wherever he went, he brought germs with him, and soon he was coughing and sneezing.As always, he was demanding when he was sick.Not only do I have to babysit and do the chores, but I have to wipe his nose every five seconds, tend the fire, and fetch him warm blankets from the dryer—his request, but It wasn't my idea, and he just lay in bed complaining.How I wish he could get pneumonia and die. He made me read to him until I got hoarse.I wish I could just play poker with him, which is what my stepfather used to do when I was sick, playing poker with me.Wayne wasn't the kind of person who was good at asking when I was sick, but I thought it was nice that he would teach me how to play poker when I was sick.As soon as I had a runny nose, he would pull out a deck of cards and we would play for hours together.I love the feeling of holding the cards in my hands, the numbers, and putting them in order.My favorite thing was winning, and he had to teach me harder and harder games so he could beat me once in a while. On the second day, that perverted cough got worse, and I had to stop in the middle of my studies and ask him, "Do you have any medicine?" As if he thought I was going to give him medicine right away, he grabbed my hand, and his fingernails dug into my skin fiercely. He said, "Don't! Don't take the medicine." "It might be better if you take medicine." "The medicine is poisonous." I could feel the hot hand he grabbed me. "Maybe you can go to town and find a doctor..." "Doctors are scarier than medicine! It was the doctors who killed my adoptive mother. If she let me take care of her, maybe she would be fine. Those doctors gave her poison and made her sicker and sicker. Yes They killed her." Even with his stuffy nose, every word he uttered was filled with hatred. After a few days, he stopped coughing, but the baby woke up every few hours and cried non-stop at night.I touched her forehead, it was a little hot.As soon as she woke up I rushed to comfort her, and once, when I wasn't quick enough, he threw the pillow over her cot. Another time, he didn't allow me to coax her, he said: "You continue to study, she just wants to attract your attention." I want to take care of my daughter, but I don't want our mother and daughter to die.I just keep reading. Her cries grew louder.He snatched the book from my hand. "Tell her not to cry, or I'm going." Trying to stay as calm as possible, I picked her up from the cot and said, "I think she might be sick too." "She's not sick. It's just that you need to learn how to control her." He covered his head with the pillow.I suddenly had a crazy urge to go over and suffocate him with my whole body on that pillow, and at that moment, he suddenly raised his head and said, "Pour me a glass of water, cold water this time ".I showed him a happy smile, but felt another part of my heart collapsed. The next morning, I was woken up by her crying, earlier than usual.I immediately picked her up and tiptoed around the room trying to quiet her, but it was too late.The freak jumped out of bed and glared at me as he got dressed. "I'm sorry, but I think she's really sick." He walked out.I went back to bed and lay down, planning to nurse her.It's one of my favorite things to do with her.I like the way she looks up at me, I like the way she puts a small hand on my chest, I like to see her full and round belly, and I like her little butt that is only the size of my palm.Everything about her is so beautiful-the thin palm lines on her hands, the small fingernails, the smooth little face, and the dark eyelashes. Usually, after she's finished feeding, I'll kiss every part of her body, starting from the toes and the soft top of her feet.When I got to her hand, I'd pretend to be nibbling on her fingers, and kiss her all the way down to her little arm.At the end, I would blow on her little belly and she would let out a small happy squeak. But today, my normally happy little one was fidgety, and every time I tried to nurse her, she would turn her mouth away.She was hot to the touch, and her face was flushed, as if someone had drawn a clown face on her face.Her stomach looked swollen, and I thought she might be flatulent. I carried her back and forth, but she vomited all over me. Finally, she fell asleep crying and crying.I've never felt so helpless.If I told him the baby was sick and I didn't know what he would do, I was terrified and I had to save her. As soon as he came back, I told him: "The child is really sick, and I have to take her to see a doctor." He glanced at me: "Go make breakfast." While I was making breakfast, the baby was sleeping in the basket and started crying again, and I was about to hug her when he raised his hand and said, "Don't go. Holding her will only reinforce her bad habits. Do Your meal." Her cries were high-pitched, and it was only between these loud cries that she took a breath, and I thought I heard her lungs whistling. "She's in very bad shape. Can we take her to the doctor? I know your adoptive mother passed away. She died from cancer. The doctor didn't kill her. You can leave me tied up in the car, You take her to the doctor." I hesitated for a second. "Or I can wait at home and you take her there, okay?" Did I really say that?Then she would be alone with him.But no matter what, she must be treated. He chewed the food in his mouth slowly.Finally, he stopped, wiped his mouth with a tissue, took a sip of water, and said, "The doctor will ask a lot of questions." The crying of the baby broke my heart. "I know, but you are so smart, smarter than any doctor, you know how to answer, they will never doubt." "Indeed. I'm smarter than the doctor, so I know she doesn't need to go to the doctor." He walked to her bed, and I followed closely.Over her high-pitched cries, he said aloud, "She just needs to learn to respect." "Why don't you go and have a rest? I'll coax her." "That's not okay, Anne. You've obviously done something wrong, and she's like that." He lifted her out of the basket and I clung to my clothes so I wouldn't run up to him and punch him , I pray that she can calm down.He was bouncing her up and down while holding her, and her crying became even more shrill. "Please, give her to me." I held out my trembling hands. "Please. She's scared." One minute he was staring at me angrily, flushed with rage, the next minute he raised his hand and threw her away.I rushed to catch her, lost my balance and hit my knee hard on the ground.I don't know if it's from shock or finally exhaustion, the baby hiccups and settles down in my arms.He squatted down and put his face in front of me, so close that I could feel his breath. "You've got my daughter against me. It's not good, Anne. Not at all." My voice was shaking, and I said, "I would never do something like that - she's just a little confused because she's sick. She loves you very much. I know she loves you, I can see that." He crooked head on. "When she hears your voice, her eyes roll in your direction. But when you hold her and I talk, she doesn't." It's all bullshit, but I have to convince him . He stared at me for a minute, which was a tormenting minute, and then he clapped his hands and said, "Come on, our breakfast is going to be cold." I put her in the basket and followed He left, and I was afraid that she would cry again.Thank goodness she didn't, she fell asleep. After breakfast, he scratched his head and patted his stomach.I have to try again. "Can you ask me to look up the book and see if there are any herbal medicines nearby that can cure her. Herbal medicines are natural, and you can also look up what to give her." He glanced at her crib and said, "She'll be fine." She is not well.Over the next few days, she developed a high fever.Her satin smooth skin was hot to the touch and I didn't know what to do for her.She was coughing so badly and gasping for breath that I put a hot towel on her chest to try and comfort her, but she cried even harder and the cold towel only made her scream even louder.Nothing works.She was waking up every few hours at night, and I couldn't sleep at all—I was always lying there, half-asleep, terrified all the time.Sometimes, I hear her crying out of breath and my heart stops beating. The pervert thinks that if she is crying during the day, then we should ignore her, so that she can learn self-control, but he can only hold on for about ten minutes, and then he will rush out screaming, yes I shouted: "Tell her not to cry!" If she was crying at night, I would quickly pick her up, and if he was woken up, he would throw the pillow over, on her, on me body, or cover your head with a pillow.Sometimes, he would beat the bed with his fist. He would go back to sleep and I would hide in the bathroom with the baby until she was quiet.One night I thought maybe the hot steam would help her breathe better and turned the shower on, and before I could find out if it was working, he rushed in and yelled at me to turn off the water Lost. After a few days like this, I have been like a walking dead.By day five of my baby's illness, I felt like she was waking up about every half hour, and it was getting harder and harder for me to stay awake.I still remember that day, I felt that my eyelids were so heavy, and I wanted to rest for a second, then, I must have fallen asleep, and suddenly, I woke up suddenly.My first thought was, why is it so quiet, I thought, she finally rested, I was so happy, and closed my eyes again.Then, I suddenly realized that the pervert didn't seem to be sleeping next to me, and I sat up immediately. The cabin is very dark.Although it was summer, the temperature had dropped the night before, so he lit a small fire, and in the dim light of the fire I saw his figure standing at the foot of the bed.He bowed slightly, I thought he was going to pick up the child, but when he turned around, I found that he was already hugging her.I stretched out my hand in a daze. "Sorry, I didn't hear her cry." He handed the baby to me, turned on the lamp, and began to dress.I do not understand why.Is it already time to wake up?Why didn't he say anything?The baby lay quietly in my arms, and I lifted the blanket from her face. For the first time in so many days, her little face was not twisted into a ball because of discomfort, her face was not red, and there was no sweat on her face.But that pale complexion seemed a bit wrong, her red mouth turned blue, even her eyelids were blue.My heart was pounding, my ears were buzzing, and I couldn't hear the sound of him putting on his clothes. Suddenly, in my head, everything was quiet. I put my cold hands on her face, and her face was colder than mine.She didn't move.I put my ear to her mouth, my chest constricted and I couldn't breathe.I heard nothing, felt nothing.I put my ear to her small chest again, the only sound was my own violent heartbeat. I squeezed her little nose, blew into her little mouth, and pressed her chest.I heard low sobbing in the room.I thought it was her crying, and I was full of joy, until later, I realized that the crying was myself.I put my ear to her mouth between my CPRs. "Please, oh, please, just breathe out. God, help me, please." It's too late.She was cold all over. I sat at the foot of the bed, unwilling to admit that I was holding my dead daughter in my arms.The pervert looked down at us with an indifferent expression. "I said I was going to take her to the doctor. I said it!" I yelled at him, pounding his leg with one hand and holding my daughter tightly with the other. He slapped me across the face, and then said flatly, "Give me the baby, Anne." I shake my head. He grabbed my throat with one hand and grabbed my daughter with the other.We look at each other.The hand around my throat started to get tighter and tighter. I let go of my daughter. He snatched her from my arms and held her to his chest, then got up and walked towards the door. I want to say anything, anything is fine, as long as it makes him stop.But I can't say anything.Finally, I lifted her blanket and threw it towards his back, choked up and said, "Cold...she will be cold." He stopped, then walked back and stood in front of me.He picked up the blanket, held it in his hand, and just stared blankly, with an expression I couldn't read.I reach out to hug the baby, I beseech him with my eyes.He stared into my eyes. For a moment, I felt as if I saw a hesitation on his face, but in the next second, his eyes dimmed again, and his face was full of indifference.He put the blanket over the child's head. I start screaming. He goes out the door.I jumped out of bed, but it was too late. Desperate, I scratched at the door with my hands, to no avail.I kicked the door with my feet and slammed into it with my body until I was covered in bruises and lay on the ground, unable to get up again.Finally, I pressed my face against the door and called out the name I had secretly given her until my throat was too hoarse to speak. He was gone for about two days.I don't know how long I was glued to the door, screaming and pleading for him to bring the baby back.My fingers were bloody and my fingernails were torn, but there was nothing left of the door.Finally, I went back to bed and cried until the tears stopped flowing. I was in grief trying to figure out what the hell was going on, how it was all going on, and all I could think about was that it was all my fault that she died—and I fell asleep.Did she cry?I was so alert to her every sound that I was supposed to hear it.Or, was I just so tired that I fell asleep?It's my fault, it's all my fault, I should wake up every night and look at hers. I was sitting on the bed with my back against the wall when he opened the door.Even if he kills me now, I don't care anymore.When he walked towards me, I found that he was holding something in his hand, and my heart was suddenly relieved.she is alive!He handed me what was in his hand.It was her blanket, just her blanket. I rushed towards the pervert and beat his chest hard.Every time I punched, I repeated: "You pervert, you pervert, you pervert!" He grabbed my arm, lifted me up, and pushed me far away.I'm like a mad wild cat, clawing at the air in front of me. "Where is she?" I spit out. "Tell me quickly, you bastard. What did you do to her?" He looked a little confused, and said, "I brought her to you..." "What you gave me was a blanket. Blanket! Do you think that would replace my daughter? You're an idiot!" Suddenly, I laughed hysterically. He let go of my hand, and I fell to the ground with a thump, and staggered forward.Before I could stand still, his hand swung around and punched me on the jaw.I lunged forward, and the whole room went black before my eyes. When I woke up, I was lying on the bed alone, he must have put me on the bed, and my jaw was still hurting.The child's blanket was neatly folded and placed on the pillow next to me. To this day, no one knows my daughter's name—nor the police.I used to try to say that name aloud when I was by myself, and it got stuck in my throat, stuck in my heart, and I couldn't get it out. When that pervert walked out the door with his daughter in his arms, he took all the rest of me too.She died of illness—perhaps when he killed her, when she was only four weeks old.around.Too short.She spent ten times more time in my stomach than she did in this world. Now, when I see kids her age in magazines, I wonder if she would be like them if she was alive.Will her hair still be black?What color will her eyes be?Will she be a cheerful person when she grows up, or a serious person?I'll never know. One of the moments I remember most clearly that night was him sitting at the foot of the bed with her in his arms and I thought, did he do that?Then I thought, if he didn't kill her on purpose, he killed her by refusing to take her to a doctor.I'd rather hate him and blame him.Otherwise, I would keep thinking about that night, how she was lying there when I put her in bed for the last time.Sometimes, I remember, she was lying on her back, and her cold might have developed into pneumonia, and lying on her back made her choke on mucus from her own lungs, and that's why she died, and it was all my fault.Then, I would think again, no, when I put her down, she should be lying on her stomach, is it because she was lying on her stomach that she was suffocated to death? I was sleeping less than two meters away from her .I've heard people say that when a woman's child is in trouble, they always feel it.But I don't feel anything.Why don't I feel it, doctor?