Chapter 3

Eventually, my daughter was denied the opportunity to attend school with my son.

It became apparent that Olivia and her relatives had begun to notice the striking similarity between my daughter and her spouse. Worried about their secret being revealed, they took swift action.

Within seven days, my daughter was removed from the residence.

Olivia claimed that my daughter had become increasingly unmanageable, often influencing my son negatively. "I cannot allow her to remain here and negatively impact the young master," she stated with false virtue.

She disclosed her intention to return my daughter to her birthplace, where her grandparents would "look after her."

Doubtful of her words, I discreetly arranged for an investigation. The findings were deeply disturbing. Rather than sending my daughter away, Olivia had leased a nearby property. There, she kept my daughter bound to a bed with rope, severely limiting her movement.

Olivia made only one daily visit, silently leaving a container of plain gruel. This was the extent of her care. She treated my daughter as an unwanted burden, left to suffer in isolation.

On the occasion of my son's tenth birthday, I insisted that Olivia bring my daughter to the festivities. I longed to see her, even if just briefly.

When my daughter appeared, I felt my heart constrict, and tears threatened to fall. No amount of mental preparation could have lessened the shock.

She was alarmingly gaunt, her weak frame resembling that of a child half her age. She walked with difficulty, one leg visibly broken and improperly healed.

But the most horrifying aspect was her face. It was disfigured, covered in burn scars that distorted her once-delicate features.

I immediately understood their motivation. My husband and I had once remarked on her faint resemblance to him. Because of that observation, they had mutilated her.

The realization struck me like a physical blow—Olivia and her family were far more merciless than I had ever imagined.

As I stood there, speechless with shock, Olivia caught my eye. Her lips curved into a subtle smile, so cold it chilled me to the core.

Olivia reached out and pinched her daughter's scarred cheek with a mockingly affectionate gesture.

"This foolish child," she remarked, feigning sympathy. "She accidentally spilled boiling water on herself and got burned. Such a careless girl. It's fortunate I sent her to the countryside; otherwise, you, Madam, would have had to spend a fortune dealing with this issue."

Her words were venomous, and I trembled with rage.

"You brought a daughter into this world but failed to raise her properly," I said, my voice quavering. "You've destroyed her future, and as she grows older, she'll despise you for all you've done. One day, you'll regret your actions."

Olivia scoffed, her expression devoid of guilt. "Regret? You believe I'll regret this? The mere fact that Misty still breathes is the greatest kindness I've shown her. Look at her condition! She's fortunate to have even that much."

She continued with an air of triumph. "There's even a mediocre man from the village who's interested in her. He's willing to marry her when she comes of age. Imagine that—a simple girl like her, with a potential husband! Isn't that more than she deserves?"

My husband and mother-in-law erupted in laughter, clutching their sides, their faces filled with admiration for Olivia's callous "practicality." Their approval was evident, a shared recognition of her ruthless cunning.

I stood there, staring at them, overwhelmed by disappointment. I found myself at a loss for words in the face of their cruel indifference.

I brought my daughter into the house, determined to give her the birthday celebration she had likely never dared to hope for. For one evening, I tried to make her feel cherished, if only to counteract the years of neglect she had endured.

But the moment of happiness was fleeting. After the party, Olivia wasted no time in sending her daughter away once more.

Before their departure, I purchased as many gifts as I could for my daughter, hoping to bring some light to her dismal existence. Deep down, however, I knew the harsh reality—Olivia would never permit her to keep them. She wouldn't allow my daughter to experience even a hint of kindness from me.

I remained silent, forcing myself to focus on the small consolation that my daughter, despite everything, was still alive.

In the following days, I immersed myself in work, often staying at the office overnight. My absence seemed to please my husband and his family, as it allowed them to revel in their warped version of harmony without my interference.

Through surveillance, I observed them laughing and enjoying each other's company, a grotesque display of unity built on cruelty.

As time passed, Olivia grew increasingly audacious, her actions becoming more outrageous. One day, she even cornered her son privately, asking him, "Tell me, do you love me more or your mother?"

Her son, despite being indulged by their pampering, possessed a remarkably clear sense of right and wrong. He shot her an irritated glare and replied, "Of course I love my mother. Aren't you just the nanny my family hired to take care of me?"

Olivia froze, stunned by his frank response, but he wasn't finished. "If it weren't for my mom working hard to earn money, all of us would go hungry. And if you say anything bad again, I'll tell my mom!"

Olivia's face turned an angry shade of blue. She wanted to lash out but restrained herself, knowing she couldn't risk further exposing her true nature.

That night, while reviewing the surveillance footage, I watched as Olivia gathered my husband and mother-in-law in the living room, her face contorted with resentment.

"I've had enough!" she snapped, her voice trembling with frustration. "I'm fed up with this life! I raised such an excellent son for this family, and yet he only sees me as a nanny! A nanny!"