Content Warning: This chapter contains themes of illness, family conflict, and emotional distress.
There was another incident.
I was fourteen.
It had been almost six years since we last visited my grandmother during winter. So when Dad suddenly decided to take us to the village, it felt… unexpected.
Mom didn't want to go.
She never did.
She was from another district. She didn't feel comfortable there—around Dad's relatives, around people who never truly felt like family to her. She always seemed uneasy. Vulnerable.
But Dad insisted.
Again and again.
So eventually… she agreed.
At first, we were excited.
We made plans.
Talked about what we would do.
Imagined meeting everyone again after so long.
It wasn't.
The journey itself was tense. Mom and Olivia argued on the way, though Olivia eventually went quiet.
When we arrived, we didn't stay directly at my grandmother's house. Instead, we stayed at my aunt's place—Dad's younger sister.
Her husband had passed away years ago. She had no stable income.
Two children.
Ana, around fifteen.
Jake, maybe eighteen.
They survived mostly on money sent by my dad and his brothers.
And that—
That was something Mom hated deeply.
The first day was fine.
Normal, even.
But the second day—
Everything went wrong.
Me and Olivia fell sick.
Not just sick—
We could barely breathe.
Our bodies felt weak, drained.
We kept running to the bathroom, over and over again.
The environment was different.
The water smelled strange.
The food tasted unfamiliar.
Nothing felt clean.
And the street food Dad had brought us the night before…
It made everything worse.
We felt like we were dying.
Mom called Dad. He had gone to another village to visit his brothers.
"Come back. They're really sick," she said.
There was a pause.
Then his voice came through the phone—
"Is it really that important for me to come?"
I heard it.
Every word.
Mom cut the call immediately.
I lay there, barely able to move, my body weak…
And something inside me burned.
What kind of father are you?
We couldn't even go to a hospital easily—it was far.
Dad later suggested admitting me somewhere, but it didn't matter.
At that moment—
He wasn't there.
But what made it worse…
Was my aunt.
She leaned close and whispered,
"Your dad will come. Try to look okay, alright? Think about how he'll feel if he sees you like this…"
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
But inside—
Something twisted.
I was barely breathing.
Barely conscious.
And she wanted me to pretend?
For him?
That's when I felt it clearly.
Hate.
Not just for him—
But for all of them.
Later, we moved to another house nearby. It was empty, owned by someone who lived in the city. Compared to the previous place, it was cleaner. More livable.
But even there—
Things didn't get better.
Mom had to walk back and forth constantly, bringing us food.
She was tired.
Her legs hurt.
She was frustrated.
I was lying on the floor, too weak to even sit up properly.
And then she said it.
"If I wasn't taking care of you, you'd be lying here like a dead dog—covered in flies."
Her voice was filled with anger.
With something that felt like… humiliation.
I froze.
I didn't choose to get sick.
We didn't choose this.
Wasn't it because of Dad?
Then why—
Why were we the ones being spoken to like that?
I didn't say anything.
But something inside me… hardened.
And that wasn't even the worst part.
What came next—
Was far more humiliating.