Chapter 1
1118words
Three hours ago, I still thought she was Mom's most beloved sister.
Now, I'm going to destroy her.
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**[Three Hours Earlier]**
Sunday family dinners had always been a tradition in our household, and Aunt Rachel was a constant presence at the table.
Since her divorce, Rachel had never held down a stable job, and her livelihood depended entirely on my mother Katherine's financial support. Mom always said Rachel was her little girl, and I always felt that Mom treated my aunt better than me, her own daughter.
The crystal chandelier in the dining room cast a warm, bright glow, giving each dish an enticing luster. The long dining table was filled with the fruits of Mom's afternoon labor, creating that picture-perfect family atmosphere.
Dad held a bottle of red wine and walked behind Mom. As he leaned over to pour her a glass, his hand—deliberately or not—rested on her shoulder, his fingertips caressing her skin, lingering just a few seconds too long.
I saw Mom's body stiffen ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, as she shifted away from Dad's touch.
"Thank you," she said, her voice gentle with no detectable strain.
At the time, I thought this was just Dad's way of expressing affection. After all, in my memory, he had always been a romantic and passionate man.
When Mom got up to prepare dessert in the kitchen, Dad immediately put down his wine glass and followed. "Let me help you, dear," he said.
The kitchen door was half-closed, and I vaguely heard Mom say in a lowered voice: "Not now, Eva is right outside."
Dad responded with a low chuckle, a laugh tinged with unmistakable smugness.
Under the dining table, a subtle game was playing out. I noticed Dad's foot brushing against Aunt Rachel's several times. After each touch, Rachel's face would flush with a strange blush.
When she served food to Dad, she leaned forward with an overly intimate curve to her posture. Her eyes, when they met his, were filled with undisguised, almost fawning smiles, while Dad calmly soaked it all in.
I merely frowned at the time, chalking it up to Dad's excessive "affection" and my aunt's overdependence on our family. I didn't let my thoughts drift toward anything more sordid.
After dinner, Rachel announced she would stay overnight—already the third time this month. Mom naturally agreed with pleasure and personally prepared the guest room bed for her, fussing over it as if preparing for a child.
Dad said he needed to handle some urgent work emails in his study. Before leaving, he gave Rachel a meaningful look—the full significance of which I only understand now as I recall it.
I drove a classmate home since we were heading in the same direction, only to discover upon returning that I'd left my house keys on the dining table.
It was late when I parked my car in the yard. The entire house had fallen into darkness, except for the guest room on the second floor, where a faint, ambiguous light seeped through the door crack.
A memory fragment I had overlooked suddenly hit me. Just last month, when I got up for water late at night, I had also seen the light on in the guest bedroom. At the time, I thought Mom had forgotten to turn it off after getting up during the night.
Looking back now, Aunt Rachel had stayed at our home that night too.
An indescribable uneasiness gripped my heart. I held my breath as I quietly unlocked the front door with my spare key.
The living room was deathly silent, with only the wall clock ticking monotonously, its sound infinitely amplified in the stillness—heavy and oppressive.
I took off my shoes and, barefoot, followed the light and the intermittent, deliberately suppressed gasps coming from behind the door crack, creeping toward the guest bedroom.
My heart raced, blood rushing to my head, making my ears buzz. My palms were already clammy with cold sweat.
As my hand rested on the partially open door, I could feel my fingertips trembling violently.
I pushed the door open.
On the soft, large bed in the guest room that Mom had personally made, the blanket lay crumpled in a ball at the foot of the bed. And there was Aunt Rachel, straddling my father Damian, completely naked.
Her golden hair spread chaotically down her back, swinging wildly with her movements. The broken moans escaping her lips froze me to the spot.
My mind went blank, left only with the scene of betrayal before me—ugly, dirty, and nauseating.
I don't know how long I stood there—perhaps only seconds, perhaps an eternity—but finally the movement on the bed stopped.
Dad leaned back against the headboard with satisfaction, and then he saw me standing at the doorway. The lust on his face instantly vanished, replaced by shock and horror. That face I had known for twenty years suddenly became utterly foreign.
Rachel's reaction, however, was completely different.
She merely climbed off my father unhurriedly, showing no intention of covering herself. Instead, she picked up a robe from the floor, casually draped it over her shoulders, and reached up to straighten her disheveled hair.
She looked at me, her eyes showing not the slightest hint of shame or panic, but rather the defiant attitude of a victor.
"Eva," her voice carried a slight post-coital hoarseness, yet was extraordinarily clear, "your mother is sleeping so soundly. You wouldn't want to wake her now, would you?"
Rachel paused, the corner of her mouth curling into a cruel smile, and added deliberately, word by word: "You should know that her heart isn't strong—she can't handle this kind of shock."
Her words hit me like a violent slap. Suddenly coming to my senses, my stomach churned violently. Covering my mouth, I turned and staggered away, escaping from this suffocating hell on earth.
I rushed back to my car, slammed the door shut, and only then did I finally lose control, collapsing over the steering wheel in tears.
At that moment, my phone screen lit up with a text message from Mom sent about ten minutes ago.
"Your aunt is having a hard time making it on her own out there. As family, we should take better care of her."
Looking at Mom's gentle and thoughtful words, and thinking about the unspeakable scene I had just witnessed, tears burst forth even more violently, as if trying to drain every drop of moisture from my body.
I had to tell her. I had to tell Mom everything, but looking at those words, I didn't know how to begin.
