Chapter 1I Sued To Legally Disown My Perfect Daughter

I am Jo Miller, and my daughter is the community's golden girl, the poster child for filial devotion. Yet, on Christmas Eve, I signed the papers to legally sever our bond.

The mediators from the local Family Services office rotated through, trying to talk sense into me.

"Your daughter, Daisy, she's devoted, Jo. Never gave you a moment's worry growing up. She visits every other weekend, never comes empty-handed."

"What is wrong with you? You’ve got one foot in the grave, Jo, what in God's name are you doing severing ties?"

I stood my ground. I used a fireplace poker to drive Daisy out of the house.

She wept, refusing to leave, and then, from the fourth-floor window of my old apartment, she threw herself out.

I walked past her body. She was lying in a pool of blood, fingers frantically trying to clutch the hem of my jeans.

I took a step back. "Try to bleed out somewhere else."

The neighbors couldn’t bear to watch. They called me a monster, wrapped me in a blanket, and drove me to the hospital.

When Daisy woke up, intubated and broken, all she could do was whisper "I’m sorry" over and over again.

I didn't look at her. The next morning, I filed the final papers for the Petition for Familial Severance.

* * *

The Petition for Familial Severance hearing is straightforward.

The petitioner asks three questions. If the respondent—the person being disowned—answers even one question correctly, the petition is denied.

On the day of the hearing, Daisy was wheeled onto the platform by a kindly neighbor.

She was skeletal, her face the color of wet plaster. Her hospital gown hung loosely on a frame of jutting bones.

When she saw me, her voice was a rough whisper. "Mom…"

I turned my head, refusing to meet her eyes.

The Mediation Panel seemed annoyed by my callousness. Their pointed whispers and judgmental sighs drilled into my ears.

"Silence," the Judge’s voice was clipped. "The hearing is now in session. Joanne Miller, you will begin the questioning. Are you prepared?"

I nodded.

There was no preamble, no polite softening. I went straight for the throat.

"My first question."

"Why did I first hit you?"

Daisy’s eyes held a knowing, theatrical sadness. "Because I skipped school."

She sighed, her expression shifting to one of tragedy. "Dad had just been hospitalized in the ICU after his accident. We had no income. You were up all night, every night, so worried. I was trying to help, Mom. I was secretly skipping classes to work, and you caught me. You slapped me."

"Oh, that's right! I remember that night. These old walls are thin. They were yelling so loud, my husband even went over to intervene."

"Skipping school is wrong, yes, but it came from a good place! She was trying to help her parents. No mother should hit her child for that."

"Exactly. Sweet Daisy was on the floor after that slap, shaking, but she pulled out five hundred dollars—money she'd earned—and begged her mother not to be angry. It broke my heart!"

The murmurs, though low, were perfectly audible.

I didn't blink. I just spoke two words. "Pathetic."

The shockwave was instantaneous.

Before Daisy could reply, the chorus of her defenders erupted.

"Pathetic? Does this woman deserve to be a mother? Her daughter sacrifices her education to make money for the family, and you have the nerve to call it pathetic?"

"She's lucky to have such an angel! I say skip the trial. Grant the severance immediately before she bleeds her daughter dry in old age!"

I gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "Fine by me. Let's sever. It saves us all time."

But fear flashed in Daisy’s eyes. She lunged, sliding dramatically from her wheelchair, her face a streaked mess of tears and snot. "No… Mom, no, you can’t sever the bond…"

Some people turned away, unable to watch; others glared at me with dagger-sharp contempt. The Judge looked down at Daisy, her expression pure pity.

When they confirmed Daisy wasn’t injured from the fall, everyone sighed in collective relief.

"Mom, that was the first time you ever hit me, the first time you ever lost your temper over my schooling. I never forgot it. After that, I was a model student. You drove me to and from school every day, even getting up at five a.m. for my last two years of high school. The only thing you ever talked about was my education."

She gazed at me, trembling.

I said nothing, slowly turning my head to face the Judge.

The Judge's pity hadn’t yet left her eyes, but it instantly chilled when she glanced at me. She shuffled through her notes, pulling up the "obvious" answer, but her pupils narrowed sharply as she read the card.

"The answer… the answer is… incorrect."