The Web of a Poisonous Mother

Opening my eyes, I was a child of three again, in my tiny childhood bedroom. Watching my little sister sleep beside me, I swore a vow: this time, I would make sure she and my mother remained bound to each other forever.

In my past life, my mother had asked an online forum which child to take in the divorce—the baby or the toddler. Strangers told her to take me, and she never let me forget it. Nightly, she poisoned me with guilt, claiming my sister suffered at the hands of a cruel stepmother because of me. I believed her. To atone, I woke at dawn to cook and clean, wearing faded rags and eating scraps, while every treat and toy was saved for my sister.

That life ended in college, when a doctor told me I had advanced stomach cancer. I begged my mother for help, but my sister, the one I’d sacrificed everything for, spat that I deserved to die. My mother agreed, called me a burden, and threw me out. I froze to death under a bridge, alone.