The Day My Daughter Celebrated Chapter 1

Preface：（My daughter moved her birthday celebration ten months early and declared it "Parents' Joy Day."

My daughter calls herself an anti-manipulation expert, the voice of a generation.

And I'm just an ordinary housewife.

On her eighteenth birthday, I said to her what I always said.

"This is your birthday, but it's also the day I went through so much to bring you into this world."

She flew into a rage, smashed the cake, and posted a lengthy essay online.

She condemned the concept of "mother's suffering day" as emotional manipulation of children everywhere.

The article went viral. Then she announced a new movement: everyone should celebrate their birthday ten months early.

She wrote:

Because that's "Parents' Joy Day."

Life comes from love and pleasure, not suffering.

But she didn't know the pressure I faced, the choice I made to bring her into this world.

The daughter of a rapist.）

Stella Chen's article exploded across social media overnight.

She became the champion of millions, a rebel hero.

The hashtag #WokeStellaСhen trended at the top of Twitter.

I stared at the glaring words on my phone screen, my hands and feet ice cold.

She came home, tossed her backpack onto the couch, wearing the expression of a victor.

"Mom, did you see? Times have changed. Your guilt-trip routine doesn't work anymore."

I turned off my phone, not wanting to argue.

"Dinner's ready. Let's eat."

She scoffed and pulled out a chair.

"Wait, let's talk about this."

"Look, the comments all say I'm brave. They say I spoke up for what they couldn't say."

"Mom, don't you think telling me about your 'suffering' was putting psychological shackles on me?"

I silently ladled her a bowl of soup.

She pushed the bowl away. The soup splashed onto the back of my hand, scalding.

"I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?"

Her voice was sharp, full of the arrogance that comes from online adulation.

"Your whole self-pitying sacrifice narrative is just emotional blackmail."

"Let me tell you, Monica, I don't buy it."

I looked up at her—a face so similar to mine yet completely foreign.

"Stella, things aren't what you think."

"Then what are they?" She pressed aggressively. "Weren't you happy when you made me?"

She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a mocking, cruel tone.

"Or are you saying you were just going through the motions with that man?"

My heart clenched violently.