My mother forgot me on my fifth birthday. It happened after the accident—the one that stole her memories and left her wandering, lost, until some drifter from the edge of town coaxed her into his shack and kept her. That’s how I came to be. The day it all fell apart, the police finally arrested him for what he’d done to the other women in town. In the chaos, they figured out who my mother was, and the whole story spilled out into the open. The grandparents I never knew existed pulled up in a gleaming black sedan. They rushed to my mother, and the three of them collapsed into a mess of tears and choked sobs. All the noise, all the emotion—it was like a key turning in a rusted lock. Something inside her clicked back into place. And the mother who, just that morning, would have fought a bear for me, shoved me away with a look of pure horror. “I… I don’t have a child.” My grandfather’s eyes swept over me, cold and dismissive, before he turned back to comfort her. “It’s okay, Anna. You don’t have to claim it,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Michael’s been waiting for you. You two can finally get married.” He stroked her hair. “The children you have with him… they’ll be our family’s real little princesses.” I stared at the woman I loved more than anything, my small world tilting off its axis. 1 My mother’s eyes were the eyes of a stranger. They terrified me. The whole town, it seemed, had gathered in a circle around us, their whispers like the rustling of dry leaves. “That’s her, the simple one he picked up…” “Lord, the things he did to her. The beatings…” “And that thing is the result… a little bastard…” A state trooper knelt down, his voice gentle. “Anna, you’re the victim here. We’re going to make sure he pays for what he did. But this little girl is your daughter. The law says you have to take care of her.” My mother flinched as if his words were hot pokers. She shook her head, frantically. “No… No! I don’t have a child! I don’t!” Her voice was a shrill, cracking violin string. I thought of the two hard-boiled eggs she’d pressed into my hands that morning. I knew she’d gone door-to-door, begging, just so I could have a birthday present. She’d peeled them with her chapped fingers and popped one into my mouth so fast I started to choke. She’d panicked then, her hands a clumsy flurry as she patted my back. She couldn’t mean it. All these people were just scaring her. I stumbled toward her on unsteady legs. “Mama,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s me. It’s your Wren.” I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead to the cold, hard-packed dirt, again and again. A desperate, silent prayer. She was the only thing I had. But she looked at me like I was a ghost. Her leg shot out, the heel of her boot connecting hard with my shoulder. The impact sent me sprawling backward, a sharp pain lancing through my shoulder blade. “Get away from me! Don’t you touch me!” she screamed, her face a pale mask of terror. “You’re not my daughter! You’re a nightmare! You’re my shame!” Her voice dropped to a horrifying whisper. “I look at you and I want to die.” My grandfather immediately wrapped his arms around her, shielding her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her back. “We’ll forget all about it. You and Michael will have other children.” He turned to a man standing nearby. “Take the child to a county home. An orphanage.” The trooper stepped forward. “Sir, that’s not legally possible. The mother is present. She has a legal obligation to provide care.” My grandfather’s jaw tightened. He said nothing more, just helped my mother to her feet and guided her toward the black car. Panic seized me. I didn’t know what an orphanage was, but I knew I couldn’t lose my mother. I scrambled up from the ground, my whole body aching, and ran after that big, shiny car. The road was rutted and uneven, forcing the car to move slowly. I pumped my little legs as hard as I could. When I fell, I clawed my way back up and kept running, tears and dirt streaking my face. My lungs burned. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto my knees but kept going, crawling, my hands scraping against the gravel. I could not be left behind. The car stopped. My grandfather got out, his face a thundercloud. “What do you think you’re doing? Get lost!” I just sobbed, unable to speak, and kept dragging myself forward. The trooper walked over, sighing. “Sir, look… legally, this child is your granddaughter. You have to take her with you for now. You have to figure out a proper arrangement. You can’t just leave a kid this small on the side of the road.” My grandfather glanced at the growing crowd of onlookers, then at my mother, who was curled up in the back seat, weeping. He shot me one last look of pure disgust, then turned and got back in the car without another word. The engine rumbled to life. The car started moving again, but slower this time. I wiped my muddy face with the back of my hand and used the last of my strength to follow the cloud of dust it kicked up. I had no idea where I was going. I only knew my mother was in that car. 2 Even moving slowly, the black sedan was too fast for me. It rounded a bend and disappeared from sight for a second. My heart seized in my chest, and I forced my legs to move faster. I tripped and fell again, skinning my knees and palms, but I scrambled up without a thought for the blood. People on the street stared, pointing, but I didn’t care. All I could see was the car. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of my heart. I don’t know how long I ran. It felt like something was about to explode in my chest, and the back of my throat tasted like salt and blood. Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of a big, beautiful, quiet house. It had clean white walls and a dark roof, surrounded by a tall iron gate. It was grander than anything I had ever imagined. I practically dragged myself to the entrance, my body trembling with exhaustion. Sweat and grime were glued to my skin. I gripped the cold iron bars of the gate, gasping for air. The world spun, and black spots danced in my vision. My grandfather got out of the car, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl of revulsion. “Damn leech,” he muttered. “Bad luck.” He strode over, not to help me, but to shove me away from the gate. I lost my balance and fell backward, the back of my head cracking against a hard, sharp stone. A sickening thud, a spike of blinding pain, and then the warm stickiness of blood trickling down my neck. Just then, the beautiful iron gate swung open from the inside. A man in a crisp, clean shirt rushed out. He looked kind, gentle. He ran right past me, lying crumpled on the ground, and straight to my mother as she stepped out of the car. “Anna. You’re back. You’re finally back.” He pulled her into a tight, desperate hug. My mother’s body was rigid. She kept her head down, trying to shrink away from his touch, her face a miserable canvas of shame and panic. “No, don’t…” she whispered. The man only held her tighter, his voice thick with emotion but firm. “Shhh, it’s over. It’s all over now. We’ll get married. I’ll protect you. We’ll have the most beautiful little girl in the world…” My grandfather added, his voice cold, “Michael, don’t you worry. Anna will be fine now. As for this…” he shot a glance at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, “I’ll take care of it. Get rid of it. She won’t be upsetting Anna anymore.” Get rid of it? Even though I didn’t fully understand, the words hurt like a physical blow. Watching my mother in that man’s arms, hearing them talk about their “beautiful little girl,” a new wave of panic washed over me. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my head and the dizziness, I used my hands and feet to scramble up from the ground and lunged toward my mother. “Mama, I’m your daughter too! Please don’t leave Wren, please…” Before I could get close, my grandfather’s face hardened. He reached out and, with a grunt of effort, slammed the heavy iron gate shut. My fingers were curled around the bars. The massive weight of the gate crashed down on them. A sickening, soft crunch echoed in the sudden silence, followed by a wave of agony so intense it stole my breath. I heard my own bones snap. I screamed and yanked my hand back. My fingers were bent at unnatural angles, already swelling into a grotesque, purplish mess. The pain was a living thing, pulsing and white-hot. I couldn’t breathe. The gate was locked. Through the cold iron bars, I watched the man named Michael wrap his arm around my mother, his back to me, and lead her toward the beautiful house. My grandfather followed them without a single glance in my direction. I was locked out. The sky began to darken. A cold wind whipped at my sweat-soaked clothes, and I started to shiver. The blood in my hair dried, pulling at my scalp with a dull, throbbing ache. My hand was a swollen club of agony. I was cold and hungry and hurt. I huddled in the corner by the iron gate, watching the warm lights flicker on inside. I cried softly, whispering “Mama” over and over again. But no one came. Eventually, the tears ran out. My strength was gone. Darkness swallowed me whole, and I fainted. 3 I don’t know how long I was out. When I woke up, the wound on my head had formed a crusty scab that pulled with a dull ache. I was cold and desperately hungry, curled into a tight ball at the foot of the gate, staring at the house. A whole day passed. No one came out. My stomach twisted with hunger pangs, and my throat was as dry as dust. I saw a stray dog digging in a nearby trash pile, pulling out a foul-smelling bone. I was so hungry I crawled over, wanting to snatch it away. The dog bared its teeth, a low, threatening growl rumbling in its chest as it shielded its prize. I was scared, but the hunger was worse. I reached out a trembling hand. The dog lunged. I recoiled, watching it run off with the bone. I could only sit there, silent tears tracking paths through the dirt on my face. Just then, the iron gate clicked behind me. I whipped my head around. An old woman was walking out. It was my grandmother. Her eyes took in my filthy, wretched state, and her brow tightened. There was no pity in her face, only a deep, profound disgust. “You’re still here? Like a stray dog with mange.” Her voice was as hard and cold as the stone I’d hit my head on. “If you’re going to die, do it somewhere else. Don’t dirty our property. And don’t you dare upset Anna again.” I looked at her face, so similar to my mother’s, and I suddenly remembered the mother I knew before. The one who wasn’t all there, who would eat tree bark herself just to give me the scraps she’d begged or stolen. The one who would hold me tight, humming tuneless songs in her hoarse voice, patting my back with her rough, clumsy hands. “Grandma,” I rasped, the tears stinging my chapped lips. “I’m hungry. I want to see Mama. Just for a second…” “See her? She goes crazy every time she sees you! Are you trying to push her into her grave?” I dropped to my knees. Ignoring the pain in my head and hand, I began knocking my forehead against the hard ground, again and again. The newly formed scab on my head split open, and warm blood trickled down my nose, blurring my vision. “Please, Grandma, please. Just one look. I’ll be good after, I’ll leave, I promise…” I begged between sobs, my blood staining the pavement. Maybe she was frightened, or maybe she just figured me dying on her doorstep would be even worse luck. “Fine! Stop it! Get up!” she snapped impatiently. “One look. Then you get the hell out of here.” She made me stand far back as she opened the gate. I stumbled after her into the bright, warm house. It smelled clean and sweet, nothing like the drafty, rotting shack I’d come from. In the living room, the man, Michael, was sitting beside my mother, speaking to her in a soft, gentle voice, trying to make her smile. But her eyes were empty, her whole body lifeless. I took a shaky breath and whispered, “Ma…” The moment she saw me, her eyes flew wide. She grabbed her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “AAAHHH! Get it away! Make it go away! Don’t let it touch me!” She trembled violently, her eyes wild and unfocused. Then, she lunged, aiming her head straight for the wall. “Anna!” Michael and my grandfather screamed in terror, scrambling to grab her and hold her back. She thrashed in their arms, her cries ripping through the house. “Let me die! Just let me die!” My grandfather, holding her tight, cried out to my grandmother, his voice breaking, “My God, what has been done to my daughter? What kind of hell did she endure?” My grandmother rushed to them, and the three of them clung to each other, a tangle of weeping family. I was frozen in horror. I took a step back and bumped into a small table, knocking over a vase. It shattered on the floor with a sharp crack. The crying stopped instantly. My grandfather’s head snapped around. His red-rimmed eyes, full of fury, locked onto me. “It’s you,” he hissed, pointing a trembling finger. “You’re the curse. Why did you have to show up? Why didn’t you die out there? Are you going to be happy when you’ve finally driven her to her grave?!” He was shaking with rage. “Do us a favor and let our family have some peace! Just go! And never, ever come back! I am begging you! Do you want me to get on my knees? Will you finally leave us alone if my entire family begs you?” He started to bend his knees, as if to kneel before me. My grandmother and Michael grabbed him, holding him up. My grandfather’s breakdown. My mother’s madness. The cold, desperate hatred in their eyes. The tears just fell, one after another. 4 I stumbled forward and, with my good hand, tried feebly to help him up. “Grandpa… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” It was all I could say. When I couldn’t lift him, I let go and backed away. Then, I knelt. I looked at my mother, my grandfather, my grandmother, and the kind man holding him up, and I bowed my head to each of them, knocking my forehead solidly against the floor. The sound was a dull thud, and my wound split open again, but I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry, Grandpa, Grandma. I’m sorry, sir.” I repeated it over and over in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll go now. I’ll go, and I’ll never come back.” I knew then, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that my mother was truly gone. I tried to stand, to walk out, but my legs were made of cotton and wouldn’t hold me. That’s when my grandmother’s voice came from behind me. It sounded exhausted, maybe even a little pitiful. “Forget it… It’s the middle of the night. Where would you go? Just… stay for now.” A tiny flicker of light sparked in the darkness. That night, they made me a small bed on the floor in a corner by the front door. The floor was hard, with only a thin blanket underneath me. The pain in my head and hand throbbed, and my stomach ached with hunger. No one brought me any food, and I was too afraid to ask. It was cold. I curled into a ball but couldn’t sleep. Late in the night, I heard hushed voices coming from one of the rooms. It was my grandfather and Michael. “…have to send her away. The sooner the better. I think Anna’s had a complete breakdown. She can’t take another shock.” “I know… but where? The county homes, the paperwork…” “I made some calls. I have a distant cousin back home, a Mrs. Gable. We’ll give her some money, have her raise the child…” “I guess that’s the only way… It’s tough on the kid, though…” “Tough?! Is anyone’s life tougher than my Anna’s?! My daughter… my baby girl that I held in my arms… what that bastard did to her… forced her to… to have… When I think about the life she was living all those years, it feels like a knife in my heart.” Michael’s voice was choked. “Dad, don’t… It’s over. I’ll take care of Anna now. We’ll have a new life. We’ll have our own children.” Their words faded into the sound of muffled, heartbroken sobs. Their grief was like a hammer, striking me with every sound. And then I remembered. Every night, the man who kept us would drag my mother from our mattress into the other room. She wouldn’t come back until morning, often bruised and bloody. I would hear her awful cries, mixed with the angry shouts of different men. I would beat my fists on the locked door, trying to save her, but I could never get it open. Then one time, the man lost all his money playing cards and said he was going to sell me. My mother held onto me, terrified. Finally, like she’d made some terrible decision, she started nodding frantically at him, pointing toward the door and making desperate, pleading sounds. After that night, my mother started going out on her own every evening. The man never had to drag her again. She always came back dirty, smelling bad, her eyes emptier than before. But she would secretly press a little treat into my hand—a piece of candy, half a cookie. Then she would hold me and shake uncontrollably. I didn’t understand then. I was just glad the beatings had lessened, and I had more treats. But now, hearing my grandfather’s words, the broken pieces of my memory clicked together. To keep me from being sold, my mother had forced herself to do something she hated. Something horrible. Every time she looked at me now, she was seeing that dark, suffocating nightmare all over again. I suddenly felt like my entire existence was a mistake. A monstrous grief swallowed me whole, a pain a thousand times worse than the throbbing in my head, the ache in my stomach, or the cold seeping into my bones. I couldn’t breathe. I got up, moving like a sleepwalker, and felt my way toward the kitchen. There was only one thought in my head: I am wrong. I shouldn’t be alive. If I disappear, Mama will get better. Grandpa and Grandma and Michael won’t have to be so sad anymore. The kitchen was dark. My hand brushed against something cold and hard on the counter. A knife. I gripped the handle, the chill of the steel making me shiver. In the darkness, I saw two images of my mother. The first, her eyes shining as she handed me a birthday egg. The second, her eyes wild with madness and despair as she looked at me today. Mama. I’m so sorry. I closed my eyes and pushed the knife against my body with all my strength.
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