The meat looked totally normal. Nothing seemed off, there was no weird look or unusual smell. I stared at it for a long time, but couldn’t find anything wrong. Even when they ate it, no one noticed anything unusual.
I honestly thought the butcher had tricked me.
But the next morning, when I woke up, I smelled a new stench. It was coming from my father’s body, mixed with a burnt smell.
Nervously, I stepped closer and the burnt smell on him grew even stronger.
Suddenly, the butcher’s words echoed in my mind.
“The eviller deeds one commits, the more meat they eat and the stronger the odor becomes, to the point where one can even smell their malice.”
That burning odor smelled like the aftermath of a massive fire. A mixture of the scent of charred wood, resin and meat. This instantly conjured up images in my head of a house engulfed in flames.
Without thinking, I asked, “Dad… was there ever a fire in our house before?”
My father paused, his sharp gaze darting toward me, including my mother and younger brother. Their eyes grew serious.
“Why are you asking such a thing?”
“Oh, no reason,” I said quickly. “I just saw a pretty fresh burn scar on your hand and I couldn’t remember how you got it. So, I ask.”
My father withdrew his hand, as if relieved and casually made up an excuse. “Oh, that? It's nothing. I burned myself while helping your grandma back at the old house. You were too young to remember, so we never brought it up.”
I nodded and dropped the subject, but I was even more confused than ever.
I didn’t even have any memories of my grandmother either. It was as if she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
When my grandmother was on her deathbed, we all went to see her one last time. I saw her bid farewell to everyone with kindness, but when I approached her, she ordered everyone to leave and glared at me with a hideous expression.
There was no trace of kindness on her face. She grabbed me with all her strength and bit my ear, leaving a gaping wound that remains to this day.
Amidst the blood, my grandmother’s hoarse, weathered voice whispered a sentence in my ear, “You’re not one of the Ford Family. You monster, get out!”
And with those last words, she passed away.
After that, my parents hated me even more. They believed that I had said something to provoke Grandma, causing her to die with hatred. They didn't take me to the hospital to treat my ear, leaving a noticeable gap.
Moreover, I remember that grandma's family was among the first to be relocated to a new rural area and they had long since stopped using firewood. She had many children and most of the time, they took turns staying at their parents' homes. The old house was mostly locked and they rarely cooked there.
The strong smell of smoke filled my nose, bringing to mind vivid images of fiery infernos—but these scenes were not from Grandma’s house. This only strengthened my belief that my father was lying to me!
Even my brother got weirdly serious when he heard me say “fire.” He kept watching me closely from the corner of the room
After lingering for a while, my parents went out to work and my brother returned to his room to play games.
He never had a job. He spent all day livestreaming himself playing games and barely earned anything, usually ending each month broke. But my parents never complained about it. In fact, they fully supported him mooching off them. Meanwhile, they were constantly harsh with me and demanding that I hand over my paycheck once I started working.
As my mom put it, “You’re the older sister. It’s your duty to sacrifice for your brother. You’re supposed to give in to him, no matter what.”
