After he got home, he didn't come to see me right away. He went straight to his study to deal with work. Only after he finished did he seem to remember I'd been pushed into the swimming pool that afternoon, and then he finally came into my room.
I told him it was that woman who pushed me into the pool.
The reason I told him wasn't because I expected him to stand up for me or punish that woman. In my mind, I was just stating a fact.
Unfortunately, not only did he show not the slightest intention of blaming that woman, he even accused me of wronging her.
Looking at that face which was both familiar and strange, my heart was ice cold. Even though I'd never placed any hope on this father, I still hadn't expected that my life would be completely worthless in his eyes.
I don't understand—since he doesn't care about me at all, why did he bother bringing me back?
