The Mother Everyone Hated Chapter 1

When my daughter turned six, I started forcing her to do household chores.

I recorded everything on camera.

She wasn't even as tall as the kitchen counter. Standing on a little toddler stepping stool, she struggled and fumbled, failing over and over again.

Frustrated to the point of tears, she threw tantrums, begging me to let her stop.

But I just stared at her with deadpan calm, ordering her to keep going.

The internet tore me apart. Keyboard warriors called me a clout-chaser, accusing me of abusing my kid for views.

Some even questioned if I was her real mother.

That was until six months later, when a video of me finally stepping in front of the lens went viral.

It was my digital suicide note, left solely for my little girl.

In the video, I smiled at the camera.

"When I'm gone, let these videos keep you company."

"Whenever you miss Mom, just come here and take a look."

* * *

After the cancer diagnosis, the only thing tethering my soul to this earth was my daughter, Lily.

She was only six.

Tiny, soft, with a little bob and blunt bangs. Absolutely precious.

Everyone in the family spoiled her rotten.

But she was naturally introverted. Timid, even.

Whether she wanted a toy or felt wronged, she never had the guts to speak up.

I always had to notice her quiet pouting and gently coax the words out of her.

Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be a big deal.

Kids grow out of it. She would have been fine.

But the doctor told me I had six months left. At most.

I didn't have the luxury of waiting for her to grow up.

The sweeter and more obedient she was, the more my heart felt like it was being fed through a meat grinder.

I was terrified that without a mother, she would become a target for playground bullies.

I was terrified she wouldn't be cared for, or worse, neglected.

My husband and my in-laws loved her, sure, but they were oblivious. They missed the subtle cues.

They wouldn't know how to navigate the delicate maze of a little girl's heart.

And if my husband eventually remarried, Lily's position in the house would become painfully awkward.

I spent countless sleepless nights agonizing over this until I made four rules for myself.

One: In the limited time I had left, I would teach her how to survive independently.

Two: Record as many videos as possible, answering every question she might ever have about life.

Three: Leave her a safety net of money.

Four: Write her one letter for every birthday until she turns eighteen.

The plan was simple on paper.

Executing it was pure agony.

She was six. The concept of death was totally alien to her.

All she would know is that one day, her mom vanished.

She would never see me again.

I would never hold her again.

"I will be the biggest trauma of her childhood."

That thought physically suffocated me.

It hurt far worse than the terminal diagnosis itself.