When I was ten years old, my younger brother and sister were three years old.

My brother was very mischievous, always punching and kicking me. In grandma's words, my brother was lively and active, which was a good thing.

My sister was very quiet, but she would secretly scribble on my notebooks, tear up my homework, and even break my pens.

This made me more upset than being hit. Several times, I almost cried. I wanted to discipline my sister, but my mom stood in my way.

She said, "Your sister didn't do it on purpose. She's still young, what does she know? It's your fault for not keeping your things properly."

After that, I started keeping all my things in a higher place, but my sister would use a stool to reach them.

Once she lost her balance and fell from the stool, crying loudly.

When mom came in and saw my sister on the floor and scattered stationery, she didn't ask anything and just slapped me.

She questioned me, "Why did you put things so high up? You know your sister likes to play with your things. Did you intentionally want your sister to fall and get hurt?"

That slap hurt, and tears welled up in my eyes.

Feeling wronged, I couldn't help but say, "You were the one who told me to keep my things properly..."

Grandma took away my still crying sister, and mom scolded me, "You dare talk back to me? I only told you to keep your things properly, not to put them so high up. Today, you're not allowed to eat. Go reflect on your actions in your room!"

The door slammed shut, my body trembled uncontrollably, breathing heavily towards the direction of the door. Hurt turned into anger. For a moment, I really wanted to die, and I wanted them to die too.

But when I thought about what my classmates told me about how beautiful the world outside was, I temporarily suppressed that thought.

I had to rely on my own efforts to step by step walk out of here, break free from this family, and then distance myself from them.