And, above all, a way to save my child.

That night, everything changed.

My mother, Carol, stood beside the table, staring at the cardboard box. Inside were the donations meant to save my life. But there was no love in her eyes. No concern. Only cold greed.

“That amount of money shouldn’t stay here,” she said, reaching for the box. “I’ll take it to the bank.”

I immediately stepped in front of her.

“No, Mom,” I begged, my voice shaking. “That money is for my treatment. Please don’t touch it.”

Her expression suddenly shifted. The mask of a caring mother fell away, revealing a bitter and cruel woman.

“I raised you,” she snapped. “You owe me everything. Do you really think you can keep this?”

“You never helped me,” I whispered. “Please… just leave.”

“Never!” she screamed.

In a fit of rage, she grabbed a heavy metal rod that was holding up the decorations.

“Mom, stop!” I cried.

But she didn’t listen.

She lifted her arm.

And struck with all her strength.

A dull crack echoed as the metal slammed into my stomach.

At first, I felt nothing. Just emptiness. Then the pain exploded—burning, unbearable.

I collapsed onto the floor.

I felt warm liquid running down my legs. It wasn’t just water.

It was blood.

“My baby…” I whispered.

Then everything went dark.

I woke up in the intensive care unit. Bright lights blinded me. A tired-looking doctor stood beside my bed.

“Doctor…” I murmured. “My daughter… is she alive?”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Yes,” he finally said. “We managed to save her. Her condition is serious, but stable.”

I burst into tears.

She was alive.

My little girl was alive.

“And me?” I asked softly.

“You suffered severe injuries,” he explained. “You lost a lot of blood. You were very lucky.”

Lucky…

That word hurt.

A few hours later, the police came to my room.

I told them everything.

Every detail. Every fear. Every moment of pain.

My mother was arrested.

She was charged with attempted murder.

Three days later, I saw my daughter for the first time.

She lay in an incubator—tiny, fragile, connected to machines.

My heart nearly broke.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I will always protect you.”

A nurse gently placed her hand on my shoulder.

“She’s strong,” she said. “Just like you.”

The trial began a month later.

My mother sat in the courtroom, perfectly dressed, cold and distant.

“It was an accident!” she shouted. “I never meant to hurt her!”

I looked straight into her eyes.

“You wanted the money,” I said calmly. “And you almost killed my child.”

The judge delivered the sentence:

Twelve years in prison.

With no possibility of early release.

A year passed.

My daughter took her first steps.

Said her first “Mom.”

Laughed.

Lived.

And I lived with her.

My friends became my real family.

My mother remained in the past.

Where she belonged.

Because a real mother protects.

She doesn’t destroy.

Now I know:

We survived.

And no one will ever break us again.