Chapter 1
Chelsea slapped my daughter across the face while my husband sat right there, scrolling on his phone.
The second slap left her cheek red and swollen, and she burst into tears.
The room went silent for three full seconds.
I slid the watch off my wrist and pressed it into my daughter's cold little hand.
"Don't cry, baby." My voice stayed soft, but there was ice in it. "Let me teach you something. When you run into trash, you clean it up yourself."
Chelsea was still standing there, stunned, when my husband jumped in. "What are you doing? She's my sister!"
I gave him a cold smile. "Not as of right now, she isn't."
*****
Today was Henry's mother's sixtieth birthday, and the Carter Family was throwing one of their so-called "family dinners."
The private room was sweltering, the heat so intense it made my head spin.
The air was thick with the greasy smell of food, the loud chatter of the elders, and the overpowering perfume Chelsea was wearing.
My daughter, Sophie, was only five years old, and she couldn't sit still in such a stifling atmosphere.
She whispered to me that she wanted to go out to the hallway to get some fresh air.
I nodded, telling her to play by the door and not go too far.
But the accident happened the moment she came back.
Sophie was holding a small piece of orange, probably running a bit too fast, and she stumbled as she came in.
The orange slipped from her hand and rolled right onto Chelsea's white purse, which was sitting on the chair next to her.
It left a faint yellow water stain.
That purse was the brand-new one Chelsea had flaunted in the family group chat the day before, claiming she bought it with her "hard-earned money."
As for her so-called "job," it was a title at a friend's company, nothing more. She sipped coffee and gossiped all day, then collected a paycheck. Most of that money came out of the household allowance I handed Henry every month.
Chelsea's scream shattered the fake cheer in the private room.
"My purse!" she shrieked.
She went off like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, snatching up her purse. When she saw the water stain, her expression soured instantly.
Sophie was terrified, her face pale as a ghost, frozen in place, not knowing what to do.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Chelsea. I didn't mean to," she whispered, her voice barely audible and on the verge of tears.
I immediately stood up, trying to pull Sophie behind me.
"You think a simple sorry is enough? Do you have any idea how much this purse is worth?" Chelsea snapped.
She never looked at me, her eyes locked on my five-year-old daughter.
"We could sell you off, and it still wouldn't cover it!" Chelsea spat.
Her words were nasty, but her hand moved faster.
The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the private room.
Time seemed to slow down in that moment.
I watched helplessly as Chelsea's hand came down hard on Sophie's tender cheek.
Sophie staggered, her tiny body swaying, and her lip reddened instantly.
She didn't cry. She stared with wide, terrified eyes, full of fear and confusion.
Henry, the man who always claimed to love his daughter, was sitting right next to Chelsea.
He'd been glued to his phone, playing games, and only looked up when the loud slap rang out.
He glanced at his furious sister, then at his dazed daughter.
He only frowned and muttered to Chelsea, "She's a little kid. Don't let it get to you."
After saying that, he buried himself back in his phone, the screen's cold light reflecting on his blank, uncaring face.
In that moment, my heart dropped into an abyss.
The whole room fell dead silent.
Everyone's eyes zeroed in on us.
Henry's father cleared his throat, trying to sound like the wise old head of the family. "It's a purse. The kid didn't do it on purpose."
Henry's mother rushed over and grabbed my hand, her voice all fake concern. "Natalie, have Sophie apologize to Chelsea and let's move on, okay? Chelsea's got a bit of a temper, that's all."
Apologize?
You want my daughter, the one who got slapped, to say sorry to the woman who hit her?
Unbelievable.
Absolutely ridiculous.
As they kept spinning their backwards logic, Chelsea's second slap landed without warning.
The slap cracked through the room.
This one landed louder and harder than the first.
Sophie's other cheek swelled up so fast I could see it happen.
This time, she couldn't hold it in anymore.
Her wail was so loud it shattered the fake peace in the room.
That cry was like a knife, stabbing into my heart again and again.
The whole room went dead silent.
Henry finally put down his phone and looked up, clear impatience in his eyes.
The room was frozen for three seconds.
In the first second, I could hear my blood roaring in my veins, icy and fierce.
In the second, I saw the clear handprint on my daughter's cheek, an angry, fiery red.
In the third, every moment of compromise, endurance, and humiliation from the past five years flashed before my eyes. Then, in one blast, it all broke into powder.
Bit by bit, I raised my hand.
Everyone thought I was about to slap Chelsea.
Henry stood up too, looking nervous.
Instead, I took off my watch.
It was a Patek Philippe, something I'd owned before I got married. After the wedding, I kept wearing it, but always told everyone it was a cheap knockoff so I wouldn't draw attention.
The Carter Family believed me, and mocked me for being a wannabe.
As I took off the watch, the cold metal against my skin jolted me awake.
I crouched down and pressed the watch into Sophie's little hand, her fingers icy from fear and pain.
Her sobs cut off instantly, and she looked up at me, her eyes full of tears.
"Don't cry, sweetheart," I said softly.
My voice was barely above a whisper, but in that dead-silent room, everyone heard it, sharp and cold.
"Mommy's going to teach you something. When you run into garbage, you take out the trash yourself."
Sophie, still not fully understanding, clutched the watch tightly in her small fist.
Chelsea was still reeling from my words, but Henry was already getting agitated.
He rushed over, stepping between me and his sister, shooting me a furious glare.
"Natalie! What are you trying to do? She's our sister!" Henry snapped.
I looked up at him quietly, my eyes steady and calm.
I stared at the man I'd spent eight years loving and five years married to.
All I could see on his face was suspicion toward me and blind loyalty to his sister.
His sister was family in his eyes. But what about me and our daughter? Were we outsiders to him?
I slowly pulled out a cold, bitter smile.
"From this moment on, she's no longer family," I said, my voice cold as ice.