Black Belt Asked Maid's Daughter to Fight as a Joke – Her First Strike SHOCKED the Whole Gym
Chapter 13
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She kept replaying the scene in her mind, the sequence of events that felt more like a dream than reality: the cruel taunts, the impossible challenge, her daughter's calm voice, the blur of motion, the sound of the strike, the sight of that big, arrogant man collapsing—it was too much to process. She had known her father had been in the army, she knew he had taught Abigail some self-defense stuff in the backyard; she had thought it was just a grandfather's way of bonding with his granddaughter, teaching her to be confident, to be aware of her surroundings. She had never, not in a million years, imagined this.When they finally reached their small, tidy apartment on the third floor of an old brick building, the silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Carol went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, her hands moving on autopilot; Abigail went to her room and closed the door.Carol leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for the water to boil. Who was her daughter? Who was her father, really? Her entire life, he had been a quiet, gentle man: he had fixed her bicycle, helped her with her homework, and walked her down the aisle at her wedding; he had been her rock, a man of simple habits and deep, unwavering love. She could not reconcile the image of that man with the deadly efficiency she had seen in her daughter's hands—an efficiency he had clearly taught her.The kettle whistled, screaming into the quiet apartment. Carol poured the hot water into two mugs, her hands shaking slightly. She put a chamomile tea bag in each one and carried them to Abigail's room.She knocked softly. "Abby? Can I come in?"A muffled "Yeah" came from inside.Carol opened the door. Abigail was sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her sweatshirt and jeans, her backpack on the floor and her worn sneakers placed neatly beside it. She was staring at a framed photograph on her nightstand: a picture of her and Grandpa Mike in his backyard, both of them grinning at the camera, his arm around her, holding a bright yellow watering can. It was a picture of a perfectly normal, happy day.Carol sat down on the bed beside her, handing her a mug. "Here."Abigail took the mug, her fingers wrapping around its warmth. "I broke my promise, Mom," she said, her voice barely a whisper."What promise?" Carol asked gently."Grandpa made me promise: I was only supposed to use that to protect people as a last resort, when there was no other choice." She looked up at her mother, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "He would be so disappointed in me."Carol put her own mug down and wrapped her arms around her daughter. "Oh, honey. No, no, he wouldn't." She held her tight. "You were protecting me. You were being a shield. That's exactly what he would have wanted.""But I heard him," Abigail whispered into her mother's shoulder. "I didn't have to strike him. I could have just pushed him away. I... I was angry. Grandpa said, 'Anger makes you sloppy.' He was right. I wanted to hurt him for what he said to you."