Chapter 769 Childhood Memories 2
Quentin furrowed his brow. "You seem to have asked me this question before."
"Yes!" Grace nodded. "But you got it wrong back then, so now I want to tell you the correct answer. Do you want to hear it?"
"Of course."
So, in the night, accompanied by a light on the wall.
After many years, those memories were uncovered by her at that moment.
Grace's voice gently rose. "Quentin, after being with you for so long, haven't you ever wondered why I never mention my parents?"
"Of course, I was curious. I might know a little, but very little. I admit, many times I wanted to know everything about you, not just your present and future, but also your past. Only then can I love you better."
"But if you don't bring it up, I'll wait until you want to tell me. As long as you're willing to talk, I'm willing to listen."
Grace held his hand, their fingers interlocked. "Thank you, Quentin. Today, I'll tell you."
"My childhood was a tragedy, so I dare not recall it to this day. For a long time, I thought I had erased it, forgotten it. Many times, I even forgot what they looked like. I tried hard to remember, desperately recalling, but could only piece together some fragmented, blurry, and even unfamiliar faces."
"But the appearance of Beth and Ms. Sanchez made me realize that things that existed cannot be easily erased. Even if you don't remember, it doesn't mean you've forgotten; it's just temporarily buried. It's always been there."
"I realized how ridiculous I was. For so many years, I had been deceiving myself, numbing myself."
Her voice was choked with sobs.
Her tears fell, dripping onto Quentin's hand.
One drop after another, so hot, falling into his heart like freshly melted wax, burning intensely.
"Don't cry, take your time."
Wiping her tears, Grace continued.
"When I was little, as far back as I can remember, my parents' relationship was terrible. Other families might have laughter and joy, or at least a respectful relationship between husband and wife, but my home was always full of fights, never a moment of peace."
"My dad was an alcoholic, and he had a bad temper when drunk. He often went on drunken rages, especially liked to curse at me, calling me a burden, a money-loser. He repeatedly questioned why I was a girl and not a boy."
Just hearing these words as a bystander made Quentin feel suffocated.
He knew that the preference for boys over girls was very common in society.
The Taft family was the same.
But in such a deeply rooted family, even if they preferred boys, they would be happy if a girl was born, and she would grow up with immense love and care. She would still be a cherished lady of the family. But he knew well that many families only wanted boys and not girls.
A boy's birth was a treasure, while a girl's birth was a waste, especially in some backward rural areas.
Previously, Quentin hadn't paid much attention to these issues.
But now, he never expected such a scene to appear so vividly and realistically in Grace's life.
"When my mom gave birth to me, she injured her uterus. The doctor said it would be difficult for her to get pregnant again, with very low chances. At first, my dad still had hope, but as years passed and my mom wasn't pregnant, he completely gave up."
"Later, my dad often had affairs with other women. My mom cried, fought, and even attempted suicide. She even slapped the mistresses a few times. At first, it had some effect, but as it happened more often, it lost its impact. My dad became more and more brazen, openly flirting with his mistresses in front of my mom, showing off their affection, and often not coming home for long periods."
"My dad's infidelity caused my mom great harm. She was almost mentally broken. Over time, she developed a condition. Whenever she was in a bad mood and couldn't control herself, she liked to hit me."
Thinking of those scenes, Grace couldn't hold back anymore.
She lowered her head, tightly hugging Quentin, her hands gripping his clothes with force.
The sadness and pain were so intense that even her nails dug in.
She was in so much pain that unconsciously, her nails scratched Quentin's back, leaving one mark after another.
Quentin didn't even flinch. Instead, he held her tighter. "Grace, if you want to cry, just cry."
Grace didn't want to cry. She felt that crying meant surrendering to the past.
"If you don't want to cry, that's okay. If you don't want to talk about it, then don't. You'll forget everything, completely. From now on, I'll take care of you."
"Grace, I promise, your life will never have so much suffering again."
Her soft sobs spread in his arms.
But soon, she wiped her tears and continued. "I need to say it. Only by saying it can I possibly let go and forget. If I don't say it, I'll never be free."
"Alright."
"At first, she would just push me a bit when she couldn't control her anger. But it got worse, hitting me in various ways, slapping, pulling my arms, punching, and kicking. Then it was whips, sticks, and maybe other things I can't remember."
"But there was one time I remember most vividly, unforgettable for life. It was a summer day, with thunder, and a storm was about to come. My dad got a call from his mistress, saying she was scared of the thunder and wanted him to be with her. My mom found out and refused, arguing and fighting, but it was all in vain. My dad left."
"After he left, she saw the cigarettes on the table. In her rage, she lit a whole pack. I stood aside, cautiously, not daring to breathe."
"Suddenly, she went crazy, grabbed my arm, and started burning me with the lit cigarettes. My arm, body, and head, many places were burned. I don't remember where else. I fainted, and when I woke up, my body was covered with cigarette burns."
"At that time, I never dared to resist. One reason was sympathy for my mom, and the other was that, under her long-term brainwashing, I blamed everything on myself. Because I was a girl and not a boy, I didn't get my dad's attention. He cheated for a son, and it was all because of me."
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