My dad sm;as;hed my tooth for refusing to give my salary to my sister. Mom laughed and said, “Parasites like you should learn to obey.” Dad laughed too and added, “Your sister earns happiness. You earn nothing.” Then their faces went pale.

I walked out of the kitchen slowly, holding my jaw. My father’s voice trailed after me: “Don’t be late with that transfer!”

I locked myself in my bedroom and sank onto the floor. The mirror on my dresser caught my reflection: swollen lip, gap-toothed grimace, eyes swollen with rage. I touched the empty space in my mouth and felt something shift inside me. It wasn’t just pain. It was a cold, quiet clarity.

For years, I had told myself that if I just gave enough—money, time, dignity—they would see my worth. But tonight, with my tooth shattered on the kitchen tile, I finally understood. They would never stop. Not unless I made them.

I picked up my phone and opened a blank note. My hands were shaking, but not from fear. I began to type.

Step One: Assessment.
Step Two: Acquisition.
Step Three: The Kill.