The Teacher’s Daughter

Just as I was about to defend myself, Mom strode quickly to my side and, in front of the entire class, yanked my arm.

“If not you, then who?” she whispered, her voice low so only I could hear.

“Cooperate with me. Right now, I’m your teacher.”

“Everyone, look!” Mom announced as she released my arm and pointed at me.

“It’s her! Her mind is all wrong. She never thinks about her studies, only about romance. She’s ruining the class atmosphere!

“You’re too young to get into any relationship!

“How shameless you are!

“How did I end up with a daughter who brings disgrace to our family!”

Whispers erupted across the room.

Following Mom’s accusations, I saw the boy and girl whose faces had turned pale, heads lowered, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

I knew Mom had been deliberate; she wanted to use me to strike fear into every student who dared to take chances.

She did not stop there.

She dragged a chair to the center of the class and coldly commanded me, “Kneel and read the class rules out loud.”

I stood frozen, my knees feeling as though filled with lead.

“I will not kneel.”

It was the last shred of dignity I had left.

“You dare refuse?”

Her eyes sharpened into a dangerous glare.

She stepped forward and pressed my shoulders down, forcing me to my knees.

My knees slammed against the hard floor, sending a stabbing pain through me.

She smiled with satisfaction and shoved the class rules into my hands.

“Read it now. Louder!”

I gritted my teeth, tears sliding silently down, blurring the ink on the paper.

I read each word, words that did not belong to me.

With every sentence, it felt as though a knife was slicing into my heart.

The students kept their heads down, no one daring to look up at me.

When I finished, Mom was still not done.

She pulled a pair of scissors from her bag, walked over, and grabbed my hair.

“If your mind isn’t on studying, why keep your hair this long? It only tempts others.”

Before I could react, she began cutting wildly.

The snip of the scissors was sharp and terrifying, strands falling to the floor and onto my shoulders.

I gave up struggling, letting her do as she pleased. The last spark of light in my heart went out completely.

From that day on, the students in class became more careful.

Boys and girls didn’t just avoid discussing schoolwork together; even normal conversations were measured and distant, fearful that Mom would mistake them for a romantic interest.

Not long after, the school selected the Best Homeroom Teacher.

My mother won the nomination for “effective discipline” and “excellent class atmosphere.”

What a perfect outcome.

That night, I developed a high fever.

I closed my eyes, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.

After the fever broke, I didn’t go to school.

I locked myself in my room, refusing food and water.

Mom came to knock, her tone impatient.

“Have you finished making a scene? Hurry to school. Don’t miss the final exam!”

I ignored her.

She lost her patience, kicked the door, and shouted, “If you don’t go, I’ll break your legs!”

Then she left.

I sat in my room, staring out at the sky.

The sky was so blue, the clouds so white.

I recalled how, when I was little, she used to take me to the park to play.