The cold floor offered little comfort as I pushed myself up, my hand instinctively going to my split lip, already throbbing. My left eye was swelling, blurring the edges of the room.

"Please, no more, Dad. Mum wouldn't want this. She wouldn't want you hurting me like this," I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper against the rising tide of pain.

His words, sharp and bitter, cut deeper than any blow: "You should have thought about that before you killed your mother!"

"Please, Dad! You know it was an accident. I didn't mean for her to die!" My voice cracked, tears blurring my vision further. We stared at each other, a chasm of cold consternation between us.

"Please, Dad! Please forgive me," I begged, clinging to a hope long since withered. He looked at me, hatred blazing in his eyes, before a smirk twisted his lips, a new, chilling cruelty settling over his features. "Oh, Astrid, you're no daughter of mine! You never were: your mother told me your birth father died when she was pregnant with you. However, I loved your mother so much I was willing to pretend to be your father!"

The words hit me like a physical blow. "No! That's not true! Mum would never keep something like that from me!" I yelled, a fresh wave of agony washing over me.

"Your mother didn't want you to find out the truth until you were eighteen. She wanted you to live a normal life. She had said that you would find out your true identity once you were eighteen. I didn't know what she meant. I guess she was planning to tell you about your biological father then. You'll never find out who he is now!" He chuckled, a cruel, mocking sound, before delivering another kick to my ribs. I screamed, clutching my side, as he turned and locked my bedroom door, leaving me alone in the suffocating darkness.