I Wrote Don’t Hit Me On My Forehead, But I Am A Boxer Chapter 2

My brain had never worked quite right.

Doctors told my adoptive mother that a childhood brain injury had permanently arrested my mental development. Intellectually, I would remain five years old forever.

Fortunately, nature gave me extraordinary physical gifts. Though I looked slender and frail, I possessed terrifying, explosive physical strength.

When my adoptive mother fell gravely ill from kidney failure, she couldn't afford dialysis on her meager income from collecting recyclable trash. To raise money for her treatments, I entered the underground bare-knuckle boxing circuit. One victory paid a thousand dollars, exactly enough for one dialysis session.

On my very first day in the ring, I lacked technique and suffered three broken ribs.

I didn't cry.

During my second fight, I lost again, my lower jaw dislocated by a heavy hook. I still didn't cry.

My third fight, my fourth fight, defeat after defeat. My body was covered in severe fractures and dark bruises, yet I stood back up on that canvas every single time, battered and bleeding, without shedding a single tear.

I had to earn money. I had to save my mama.

It wasn't until my fifth match, when my opponent locked me in a brutal chokehold that nearly knocked me unconscious, that a spectator shouted from the crowd that the hospital was calling for payment and my mother was dying.

In that precise moment, I burst into tears.

I bit my lip so hard it bled, forcing my muscles past their physical limits. My joints popped and cracked as I tore through my opponent's lock.

The moment I broke free, I swung my fists blindly through my tears.

That night, weeping uncontrollably, I beat every fighter in that arena until they cried.

When I dragged my blood-soaked body into the hospital, the doctors had stabilized Mama, but the ongoing medical fees remained a bottomless pit.

So, I became a full-time underground cage fighter.

I evolved from a terrified rookie into an undisputed, terrifying queen of the ring who defeated massive opponents purely through brutal muscle memory.

I never ran out of cash again.

Yet, a month later, even when I slammed stacks of hundred-dollar bills onto the chief doctor's desk and fell to my knees begging him, money could no longer save Mama.

On her final day, she told me she hated the smell of the hospital and wanted to go home. I carried her on my back, walking miles down the road.

Resting her chin on my shoulder, she whispered that she had boiled soft-boiled eggs for me in her thermos, my favorite treat.

She apologized, saying she should never have picked me out of that trash dump years ago, forcing me to suffer a hard life with her.

She told me that the wealthy Montgomery family had finally found me. Her dying wish was for me to return to my biological family and live a happy, comfortable life.

She told me to be sincere, to work hard to fit into my new home.

I remembered every single word she said.

But was the Montgomery house really my home?

On my second morning at the estate, laughter echoed constantly across the breakfast table between Tiffany and Brandon. I kept my head down, shoveling food into my mouth, pretending I didn't hear them making fun of me.

"Dad, Mom, ever since Maddy came back, you haven't assigned her a bedroom yet," Tiffany said, giving our parents a meaningful look.

My biological father didn't even bother raising his eyes from his newspaper.

Finally, my biological mother, Victoria, chimed in indifferently, "Whatever. She's a brain-damaged dummy. Does it matter where she sleeps?"

I buried my face deeper into my bowl, gripping my fork tightly, saying nothing.

Mama had told me that her biggest wish was for Maddy to be happy in her new home.

So, I pretended to be deaf and kept eating.

The atmosphere at the table grew suffocatingly cold, punctuated only by Tiffany's sharp, ringing laughter.

"How about we put her in the guest bathroom?" Tiffany suggested brightly. "She grew up living in a literal garbage dump anyway. Our guest bathroom is practically a palace compared to her old home!"

Brandon immediately chimed in with a laugh. "Great idea! Her brain is full of garbage anyway. Maybe she'll get flushed down the toilet one day!"

The siblings burst into loud laughter.

My biological parents' faces darkened instantly. My father slammed his fork onto the table. "We're eating breakfast! What are you talking about?!"

He glared at me with deep disgust. "Disgusting. I lost my appetite."

My biological mother pushed her plate away, muttering aloud without the slightest hesitation, "I knew the moment she was born that she was defective. That's why I tossed her in the trash dump and brought our sweet Tiffany home instead."

"I thought I was rid of that useless girl forever, but that homeless trash lady actually dragged her back right before dying. What a nuisance."

"She even fell to her knees begging me, saying she was dying and afraid no one would take care of the dummy. She threatened to call the news media if I didn't take her back. Absolute psychos, the both of them."

My hands stopped moving.

So... I was abandoned at birth?

Mama had begged them on her knees just so I could have a place to live?

Tears dripped into my food bowl. I don't even remember how I was dragged across the floor and thrown into the dark guest bathroom.

When the heavy door slammed shut and locked from the outside, the entire world fell silent, leaving only me and my backpack.

I pulled out Mama's framed portrait from my bag and cried like a pathetic child.

"Mama... why were you so foolish?"

"Mama, I miss you so much."

"Is this really my home? Are these people really my family?"