5

During the three years my mother was in prison, I had to live with my grandparents.

At that time, I was no longer "the apple of their eyes".

Losing my usefulness, I was worse than a poor dog. At least a dog could guard the house while all I did was eat.

They even treated me as a bringer of bad luck, blaming me for my mother's misfortune.

They pushed me aside, no longer concerned about whether I was cold, hungry, or thirsty.

Even when I broke my arm and burnt my skin, or cried myself hoarse.

Eventually, I stopped crying and screaming, enduring the pain and discomfort because I knew it was useless.

I started to miss my mother crazily, longing for her warm embrace, her cooking…

Thinking of her holding me, calling me "darling" over and over.

Finally, my mother came back.

After three years, she was so thin she looked like a different person. She has lost her beauty. But I still recognized her immediately and rushed to her excitedly.

She didn't embrace me like she used to, but instead looked indifferent and kicked me away as if I were just a rat.

I sat on the ground and looked at her in astonishment, doubted if I had recognized someone wrong.

But it was really her.

I endured the pain and got up, then tried to approach her again, but she suddenly flew into a rage and started hitting and kicking me.

"It's all your fault, I served three years in prison because of you! Do you know what these three years are like? Starving, beaten, being raped, and dealing with heavy labor!"

"You're a disaster!"

My mother totally changed.

She no longer hugged and kissed me.

She was too sick of me, and even do not want to even look at me. Only when she was drunk would she pay attention to me, with her heavy punches and kicks.

She had completely fallen apart, already become an alcoholic. All Bill's child support was turned into wine and drained into her stomach, and then she turned her sorrow into anger, and took it all out on me.

Since she came back, being beaten has become a daily routine for me. My body was always covered in bruises, like a color palette.

The most common insult she would hurl at me was, "If it weren't for you, I could have a normal life! My life is ruined because of you!"

"I shouldn't have brought you into the world!"

But who forced her to give birth to me?

I was innocent too.

Wasn't I the most embarrassed and humiliated in this whole situation?

Those two court cases completely exposed my background, making me an outcast in public. I was a freak who crawled out of the dustbin.

I even got a nickname, "the condom."

Since I could remember, people always greeted me like this.

"Your dad hasn't come to pick you up yet?"

After starting school, I was even bullied by my classmates.

They would stick notes to my back, reading "illegitimation" or "the condom"; they would spit and throw rubbish on me, talk dirty to me, and isolate me… I have no friends at all.

They would also block my way on the road and asked money from me.

"Your dad is a rich man, so you must be a little rich girl!"

If I couldn't give them money, I would be pushed to the ground and beaten. Several girls and boys would join in with their fists and feet.

I could only cover my head through the abuse.

At first, I would cry out in pain after they left, but later I became silent.

Because I knew no one would come to help me.

After they were done and had cleaned the blood off their hands, they would leave and add, "Your dad must be powerful, let him come find us."

"Let your mom come too, tell us how she gave birth to you."

I would just hug myself tightly and shake uncontrollably.

The pain in my heart was far worse than the injuries on my body.

I had a dad and a mom, yet I was the most wretched orphan in the whole world!

I dropped out of senior high school and made myself a living.

Once, I couldn't hold back and resorted to physical violence against my bullies.

I picked up the stones, chased them on the campus, and hit them from the first floor to the sixth floor until they were forced to beg for mercy on their knees. One of them was even so scared that they wet their pants.

Their terrified expression gave me immense satisfaction.

This brief satisfaction, however, came at the cost of being expelled from school.

Apparently, revenge was okay for others but not for me.

That's how unfair the world could be.

After that, I made a living and started working to support myself.

In just a short year, I switched countless jobs. All because I was recognized as "the condom" and I had to leave.

"The condom" became a permanent label branded on me.

When I was twenty, my mom died.

That day, she had been drinking a lot, eventually falling down the stairs and breaking her neck.

I remained calm and did not shed a single tear.

"How can you be so heartless? She was your mom!" my grandparents cried as they scolded me.

"Mom? Did she treat me like her daughter?" I replied coldly, "To her, I was just a tool!"

"It's a pity she planned it all out, and all she got was a bit of money for alcohol."

"What a tragedy!"

I sneered and left and never returned again.