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Prologue

Everyone called my mother a whore for having a child out of wedlock. Including my own biological father.

And it was all because I was born.

So nobody loved me. Not even the mother I loved most in this world.

On my eighteenth birthday, I called her. I begged her to come see me one last time.

She didn't come. I knew she wouldn't. I died without ever seeing her face again.

But somehow — I heard her cry. A scream so raw it could shatter bone.

Chapter 1

I was something shameful. Everyone seemed to think so. Even my own parents.

My birth destroyed my mother's dream of marrying my father. It turned her into a pariah — someone the whole neighborhood wanted to spit on.

But it wasn't always like that.

When I was little, Mom was gentle. She dressed herself up every day, neat and pretty, and she'd hold me in her arms and nuzzle my cheek. "Nelly, do you miss Daddy?"

"Let's wait for Daddy to come home together, okay?"

So we waited. And waited. Until one day, the door finally opened.

But it wasn't Daddy who walked in. It was a woman.

That day became the turning point of my life.

I went from being the treasure in my mother's arms to a burden she despised. From a child with two parents to an illegitimate child — something dirty, something that should never have existed.

After that, Mom stopped leaving the house. Every day, strangers showed up at our door to curse at her, to humiliate her.

It broke my heart. I tried to help her up when she collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

She shoved me away. Her eyes were razor-sharp. "This is all your fault!"

"I wish you'd never been born!"

I stood frozen. Something twisted inside my chest so hard I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

Eventually, I accepted it. I was the reason all of this had happened.

I was the one who owed her.

So when Mom told me to go beg my father, I didn't hesitate.

I saw that terrifying woman again — his wife. The second she laid eyes on me, her face went dark and she tore into me, screaming.

My biological father stood right behind her, holding the hand of a child my age.

That child was dressed beautifully. She stared at me with wide, curious eyes.

Shame hit me out of nowhere. I turned to leave.

But the second I did, Mom's voice echoed in my head: *Go beg your father. Beg him. You're all I have, Nelly. You're all I have…*

So I turned back around. I clenched my teeth and begged him not to abandon my mother.

The wind was bitter that day. I remember being beaten badly. The woman's screaming. The man's cold, empty stare. In that moment, I wished they'd just kill me.

But they didn't. I survived.

I wondered — if I died, would Mom even be sad?

That thought carried me home, limping the whole way.

Mom saw the bruises, the blood, all of it. She didn't say a single kind word.

She screamed that I was useless. Worthless. And she wouldn't let me inside.

That night, I sat outside in my torn clothes while the wind cut through me like a blade.

It was the longest night of my life.

I cried without making a sound, all night long. By morning, my eyes were so swollen I could barely see. My body was so numb from the cold I couldn't feel anything.

Mom finally opened the door. She was bundled in a heavy coat, and still rubbed her arms against the chill.

She glanced at me. Said nothing. Turned around and went back inside.

Hot tears rolled down my face again.

I dragged myself to my feet and caught my reflection in the glass window — my face swollen beyond recognition.

I didn't blame anyone. Only myself.

And that was when something took root inside me. An obsession I couldn't shake:

I wanted to make it up to her. I wanted to make my mother love me again.