Chapter 11: ★MOTHERLY★

    ~Chapter 11~

    After several minutes of struggling to calm my racing heart, I carefully tried to pick myself up from the floor.

    Just as I was starting to gather my strength, a sudden knock at the door made me jump.

    My heart skipped a beat and I quickly turned to face the door. Was it him again? What did he want now? Fear gripped my chest, making it hard to breathe.

    I quickly looked around the room for a place to hide, but there was nowhere to go.

    The door creaked open, and a woman walked in. She looked to be in her 40s, with a kind face and a gentle smile.

    She was holding a stack of folded fabrics, possibly clothes, but I couldn''t see clearly. Her attire caught my attention - she was wearing a black-and-white typical maid''s uniform.

    She looked oblivious to my fear, or maybe she was just used to seeing people in distress.

    Her eyes scanned the room before her gaze landed on me, and she rushed over, concern etched on her face.

    "Oh, poor thing," she whispered, setting the folded clothes on the bed. "What did he do to you?" Her eyes were filled with kindness and concern.

    I just looked at her, still trying to process how my life was a mess. She gently helped me sit up well.

    Then helped me to my feet, supporting me as I swayed unsteadily. Slowly, she led me to the bed, where I collapsed onto the soft, white sheets, not caring if I stained them.

    The lady stood before me, her expression sympathetic. "I brought you your uniform. You can''t work...like that." She gestured to my dirty bra and underwear, her eyes avoiding mine out of modesty.

    I nodded, still struggling to speak. My throat felt like it was on fire. I swallowed hard, to form some words. "W-water," I rasped, my voice cracking.

    The lady''s face lit up with understanding. "Ahh, water, I''m coming," she said, rushing out of the room. My eyes followed her as she disappeared.

    While I waited, I looked over at the clothes she had dropped on the bed. I picked them up, feeling the soft fabric between my fingers.

    It was a gown, similar to the lady''s maid uniform, but with a slightly different design but I was too tired to care.

    Before I could examine the gown further, the door creaked open, and the woman returned with a tray. "I brought you some food too," she said, setting the tray on the bed beside me before picking up a cup and handing it to me.

    I took a sip of the water, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat.

    I felt something stirred deep within me.

    It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

    Was this what they meant by motherly love? Was this how it felt to have a mom? My heart ached at the thought of not having a mom; if she was alive, maybe my life would have been good.

    I looked up at the lady as she carefully guided me towards a door and opened it, revealing a sparkling clean bathroom.

    The walls, the floor, the countertops, and even the bathtub were all a pristine shade of white.

    "Want me to bathe you or can you do that yourself?" she kindly asked me.

    I quickly shook my head; come on, I''m not so weak that I couldn''t even bathe myself!

    "I...I can do it myself," I croaked, my voice still rough from my sore throat.

    She looked like she was about to say something else but she stopped herself. "Alright, dear, if you need anything, I''m in the room," she reassured me before walking over to the bed and sitting down.

    She settled in, showing me that she wasn''t going anywhere.

    I walked into the bathroom quietly closed the door behind me, and leaned against it for a moment, taking in the peaceful atmosphere.

    I inhaled a deep breath, feeling gratitude towards this kind stranger

    The bathroom was equipped with all the modern amenities. A large, white-framed mirror hung above the sink and I walked towards it.

    I approached and my reflection stared back at me.

    I was so ugly. My dirty white hair was matted and sticking to my face, with all the tangled strands framing my abnormal pale skin.

    My eyes were red and puffy, with some tears still glistening on my stupidly long natural lashes.

    My cheek was bruised and swollen from Mr. Tattoo''s vicious slap, and one of my eyes was nearly shut with a huge swelling from my father''s brutal punch.

    My gaze drifted down to my neck, where a handprint bruise stood out against my pale skin, a painful reminder of the Don''s brutal choking. I was disgusted, glaring at the ugly mark.

    My skinny frame looked like it had been put through a wringer. My ribs were visible, my collarbone jutted out, and my arms looked like sticks.

    I felt like vomiting just looking at my appearance. Who was this broken, ugly person staring back at me?