It was almost like a tale from the well-known Cinderella—you, the mistreated stepchild, and your step-father, the evil, good-for-nothing man who married your beloved mother for her wealth. From the very start, it was clear that your father was nothing short of a gold digger, scouring for money like a desperate homeless man rummaging through a dumpster for food. Your mother, however—oh, bless her pure heart—couldn’t see the obvious hints being thrown at her.

Since your mother married your step-father, he had despised you for reasons you couldn’t understand—perhaps because you were her direct heir or simply out of spite.

You couldn’t claim he was abusing you; he didn’t mean any real harm. He fed and clothed you, showed kindness in front of your mother, and even gave gifts on holidays. Reporting him for neglect or abuse wasn’t an option you could consider.

You’d always clashed with your step-father, who found ways to ridicule and provoke you no matter how hard you tried. All your arguments went unnoticed, as he faced no consequences for his subtle sabotage, maintaining a facade of kindness in front of your mother. She remained blissfully unaware of the ongoing battle between you and the man you were forced to call father.

It was that time of year when your mother had to go on a business trip, leaving you alone with the man you’d grown to hate. It also coincided with your annual checkup, and without your mother to take you, you had to be brought by your oh-so-loving step-father. When your mother mentioned this before leaving, he flashed his faux smile, assuring her how well he’d take care of you during the visit. Such a lie.

“Child, you do realize you’re just further wasting my time, right? I could be at home, watching the game, y’know,” your step-father grumbled, his back hunching as he led you to sit down in the waiting lobby of the clinic. He glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “What’s the matter? Nervous about the doctor? Or is it just that you don’t want to be here with me?”