As far as I remember, my childhood was far from the best of memories. I didn’t have a father, and I lived with my mother and grandmother. My mother didn’t love me, and I constantly heard her say:
— You ruined my entire life; it would’ve been better if you’d died during childbirth.
My best friend in childhood was my grandmother.
My mother gave birth to me at 17. She wanted to leave me at the maternity hospital, but my grandmother wouldn’t allow it, saying:
— If you got yourself into this, we’ll raise her.
While my grandmother was alive, life was good; she loved me. When I was 12, my grandmother passed away, and I started living with my mother. By that time, she had married and had my younger sister. There was no place for me in my mother’s heart.
I was constantly showered with reproaches and insults from both my mother and stepfather. My younger sister, seeing how my parents treated me, was also hostile toward me. Because of her, I was often beaten with whatever was at hand, my body always covered in bruises. There was no one to complain to, and I was too scared to speak up—my stepfather said he’d kill me if I told anyone. I felt so miserable at home that I often cried on the street, thinking of my grandmother and wondering why she left me so early, all alone. My only wish was to finish school as soon as possible and move far away from them.
I graduated from school and enrolled in a medical college, where I was given a dorm room. For the first time, I breathed a sigh of relief, overjoyed, feeling like I was on cloud nine. I thought my suffering was behind me, that a new life had begun. But the trials in my life weren’t over yet. I met a guy and fell in love, but it turned out that this love left me pregnant, and he abandoned me at four months. Having experienced the pain of being an unwanted child, I decided my child would not face the same fate—I would love them.
I gave birth to a daughter, and for me, she was a ray of light, my joy, my happiness, my little treasure. When my daughter was two, I met my future husband. He’s a wonderful man who accepted my daughter as his own and adopted her. We later had a son, and I’m truly happy; we have a close-knit family.
I rarely saw my mother. One day, my sister called and told me that our mother had a stroke, and she was tired of taking care of her (our stepfather had already passed away). She suggested I take her in.
I discussed it with my husband, and he said:
— She’s your mother; we need to take her in and let go of everything that happened before.
By then, I no longer held a grudge against her. My husband and I brought her to our home. Our house is spacious, with enough room for everyone, and it would give the grandchildren a chance to get to know their grandmother.
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