Six-year-old Houshou Margo learned for the first ti that tears actually had a color.
They weren't transparent, they weren't clear; they were mixed with blood, a dark red, the kind of color that would leave a mark when they dripped onto the floor.
She knelt on the living room floor. Her knees hurt badly; she had hit the corner of the coffee table when she fell just now, but she didn't dare move. Moving would only make it hurt more. Her stepfather stood before her, holding a belt in his hand. The belt was brown, very old, and its edges had worn white.
"What are you crying for?" Her stepfather's voice was loud, making her ears ring. "Did I give you permission to cry?"
Margo bit her lip, forcing the tears back. She couldn't cry; if she cried, her stepfather would get even angrier. She lowered her head and stared at the patterns on the floor. Those patterns swayed back and forth before her eyes like ripples in water.
When the belt lashed down, she didn't dodge. Dodging would only make him angrier and make the beating more painful; she knew this.
Snap.
The sound was crisp, like firecrackers during the New Year, but firecrackers were happy. This sound was not. This sound was painful, it was searing, and it was the kind that left scars.
Margo closed her eyes and counted.
One, two, three...
When her stepfather beat her, she could only count. Once she reached one hundred, or two hundred, her stepfather would stop.
Sotis he stopped at fifty; sotis she had to count to three hundred. It depended entirely on his mood. She didn't know how high she would have to count today.
Snap.
Four, five, six...
"Look at you," her stepfather's voice ca from above. "Look at what you've beco. What are you? Just like your mother—a useless thing."
Margo opened her eyes and looked at the floor. The floor was very clean; her mother had just mopped it that morning, and it was clear enough to show a reflection. She saw her own shadow—tiny, curled into a ball, looking like a bug that had been stepped on.
Snap.
Seven, eight, nine...
The pain in her knees grew worse. She wanted to move slightly to change her posture, but she didn't dare. She could only continue kneeling, continue counting.
Ten, eleven, twelve...
Margo counted in her heart. When she reached the thirteenth strike, her stepfather stopped. It wasn't because he was finished; it was because soone was knocking on the door.
"Hello, I am a social worker from the Community Child Welfare Center." A woman's voice ca from the doorway. "We received a report from a neighbor saying they heard... so unusual sounds coming from your ho. May I co in and take a look?"
Margo's heart suddenly raced. She lifted her head and peeked toward the door. A woman in professional attire stood outside, holding a folder, a professional smile on her face.
Her stepfather's expression changed. The anger and violence from a mont ago vanished, replaced by a... feigned gentleness.
"Oh, it's a social worker." Her stepfather's voice beca very polite. "Please co in, co in. Just now... I was disciplining the child. She's been far too disobedient."
The social worker walked in, her gaze scanning the living room before finally landing on Margo. Margo was kneeling on the floor, head bowed, her shoulders trembling slightly.
"This child..." The social worker walked over to Margo and knelt down. "Are you alright?"
Margo didn't speak; she only shook her head.
The social worker reached out and gently touched Margo's arm. Margo subconsciously flinched, a movent that did not escape the social worker's eyes.
"What is her na?" The social worker stood up and asked the stepfather.
"Margo. Houshou Margo," the stepfather said. "She's my stepdaughter."
"May I check her condition?" the social worker asked. "I need to confirm that she is safe."
The stepfather's expression stiffened for an instant, but he quickly regained his smile. "Of course, of course. Margo, stand up and let the lady see."
Margo stood up slowly. The pain in her knees was so sharp she nearly collapsed back into a kneel, but she gritted her teeth and stood firm.
The social worker carefully inspected Margo's arms and legs, seeing the overlapping old and new scars. Her expression beca serious.
"What happened with these injuries?" the social worker asked the stepfather.
"Well..." The stepfather rubbed his hands together. "This child is too mischievous; she's always falling down. You know how it is—with kids, bumps and bruises are inevitable."
The social worker didn't speak, but instead looked at Margo. "Margo, how did these injuries happen?"
Margo lifted her head, looked at the social worker, and then looked at her stepfather. Her stepfather was staring at her, his eyes full of warning.
"I... I fell by myself," Margo whispered.
The social worker remained silent for a mont, then took a business card out of her folder and handed it to the stepfather. "This is my contact information. If you need any help, you can contact at any ti. Furthermore, I will be conducting regular ho visits to ensure the child's safety."
The stepfather took the card, the smile on his face appearing sowhat forced.
"Alright, alright. Thank you for your concern."
The social worker took one last look at Margo, then turned and left.
The mont the door closed, the smile on her stepfather's face vanished. He walked over to Margo, crouched down, and stared into her eyes.
"You did very well just now." Her stepfather's voice was very quiet, but very cold. "Rember, in the future, no matter who asks, you say you fell. Understand?"
Margo nodded.
"If you dare speak out of turn..." Her stepfather reached out and pinched Margo's chin. "You know the consequences."
Margo could only nod again.
The stepfather released his grip, stood up, walked to the sofa, sat down, and turned on the television. Margo stood where she was, not daring to move or speak.
After a while, the stepfather said, "Go clean the floor."
Margo looked down at the floor. There were a few drops of blood—they had dripped down while she was kneeling earlier. She went to the kitchen, took out a rag, knelt on the floor, and wiped it bit by bit.
The blood had already dried and was difficult to remove. She rubbed hard for a long ti before finally clearing the stains.
When she was finished, she stood up and put the rag back in the kitchen. Her stepfather was still watching TV and didn't look at her.
Margo returned to her own room, closed the door, leaned her back against the doorfra, and slowly slid down to sit on the floor. She thought of that social worker just now, of her gentle eyes, and the expression she had when handing over the card.
Maybe... maybe that person could help her.
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