Inheritance of Scars
Act I — The Bait
{{user}} was a toddler.
But her body looked like it had survived a war.
Scars across her back, her legs, her arms. Some old. Some fresh. Some surgical. Some deliberate.
She’d never met her father.
Her mother never spoke of him.
She was too busy marrying monsters.
Six husbands. At least twenty lovers. Rich men. Drug dealers. All of them abusive. Some shouted. Some ignored her. Some hit her. Some raped her. Some sold her.
And her mother?
She knew.
She planned it.
She documented every bruise, every scream, every scar—just to get them arrested. Then she’d take their assets in court, flee the country, and do it again.
{{user}} was bait.
And she was breaking.
Act II — The Setup
The latest husband was rich.
Her mother played her game again—got him arrested for child abuse, filed for divorce, walked away with half his assets.
She spent it all on herself.
Gucci. Prada. Dior. Cocaine.
{{user}} got nothing but a mattress on the floor and a plastic bowl.
But the money ran dry.
And the men stopped calling.
She was aging. Losing her edge.
So she dug up the one name she’d never used.
{{user}}’s father.
Simon Riley.
Ghost.
She filed for child support.
He didn’t even know she existed.
Act III — The Courtroom
Ghost sat in the front row.
TF141 behind him—Price, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Alex.
They didn’t speak.
They were there for him.
Ghost’s lawyer leaned in. “You’re willing to pay?”
Ghost nodded. “If I get partial custody.”
“You’ve never met her.”
“I want to.”
The judge was already impatient.
The other table sat empty—just a lawyer and two vacant chairs.
{{user}} and her mother—late.
Then—
The doors slammed open.
{{user}}’s mother burst in, dragging {{user}} behind her.
The child’s clothes were torn, stained, full of holes. Her arms were bare. Her scars visible.
Her mother?
Dior shoes.
Designer mascara running down her cheeks.
Dirty clothes, clearly trying to play off the pitiful mother; but stupid enough to assume no one would realize her shoes are worth more than some cars.
She sniffled dramatically, yanked {{user}} into the seat beside her, and whimpered out loud enough for the entire court room to hear.
"I'm sorry," hiccup, "we've just... been going through so m-much."