Broken Hands, Broken Home: My Family's Sentence

I clutched the remote in my hand, and very quickly, it was stained red with my blood. Yet, I never pressed it.

It was 24 hours later when Bruce was shot dead by the special forces team that had been called in. Then, a group of uniformed officers rushed in, led by my parents.

I lay weakly on the ground, watching as they hurried past me. They even stepped several times on my severed fingers scattered on the floor.

They began searching through Bruce's corpse and the surroundings for something.

"Where did he hide the video?"

"If we can't find it, forget it. They've all been silenced, so no one can dig that matter back up."

"But what if they'd left it with someone else…"

At this point, my parents turned in unison and looked at me. I was already barely alive.

Mom squatted beside me, showing a trace of disgust as her gaze swept over my severed fingers.

She reached out as if to touch my face, but in the end, she only straightened my collar. With a mournful expression, she said, "Penelope, I'm sorry. We came too late this time. It's our fault.

"You were kidnapped for so long. Did you hear the kidnapper mention any video or evidence? Where did he hide it?"

I stared blankly at my biological mother, and my tightly clenched right hand twitched slightly.

If my biological mother had cared even a little about whether my hand hurt or if it could be healed, she would have discovered the remote in my mutilated palm.

However, she didn't.

She and Dad searched for a long time, and after finally confirming that no evidence was left behind, they breathed a sigh of relief.

Just then, the medical staff entered, and several nurses surrounded me. Their eyes brimmed with tears as they gently coaxed me, saying, "Sweetie, it's alright. You're safe now. It doesn't hurt. It won't hurt anymore…"

They cried as they picked up my severed fingers from the floor. Although they knew there was no chance of reattachment, they still carefully kept them away.

Meanwhile, my parents had already turned away, ignoring me.

When I was lifted onto the stretcher, a nurse noticed I was clutching something tightly in my hand. She coaxed softly and said, "Sweetie, let go of that. I'll get you bandaged, then it won't hurt as much."

When I didn't respond, she tried to pry open my hand. However, any applied force made me bleed, so she gave up.

She helplessly called out to Dad, "Mr. Watson, the child is gripping something tightly in her right hand and won't let go. I suspect it might be something important, or it's maybe connected to the kidnappers or the child's family. Do you want to check?"

Dad's expression hardened as if he had realized something, and he started walking toward me.

At that moment, Evonne—dressed in a white dress—rushed in under the heavy protection of the special forces team. She flung herself into Dad's arms like a little chick, crying as if she were the real victim.

After patiently comforting her, Dad's gaze fell once more on my hand.

A trace of jealousy flashed in Evonne's eyes as she shouted and grabbed at Dad. "Dad, her hand is so scary! Don't go near her! I'll get nightmares!"

Dad immediately stopped and nervously covered Evonne's eyes, ready to take her away.

Peter walked up beside him and doubtfully asked, "Zack, that girl keeps staring at you as if she has something to say. Do you know her?"

Without even turning his head, Dad replied, "I don't know her."

Peter patted Dad's shoulder. "The kidnapper was after your daughter, so you'd better keep a close eye on Eve from now on."

Dad nodded. "Of course. Even if something happens to me, I would never let anything happen to my daughter."

Mom also let out a soft sigh. "Luckily, it wasn't Eve who was kidnapped."

Meanwhile, I lay limply on the stretcher, my eyelids twitching uncontrollably as hot tears instantly streamed down my cheeks.

I forced myself up, trembling as I lifted my right hand and reached out toward Mom.

Wasn't this what they were looking for? I kept it safe for them.

Why didn't they want to look at it? Was it because they thought I was disgusting?

Mom screamed and quickly dodged me. She then stood up and patted her uniform that hadn't even been stained with blood.

My hand froze midair.

On the other end, Evonne happily urged, "Mom, hurry! Dad said the three of us are going out for Wersole food to celebrate surviving this ordeal!"

As I watched the retreating backs of the happy family, I couldn't endure it any longer. My tightly clenched right hand loosened, and with my bloodied, mangled fingers, I pressed the remote button.