I AM NOBODY'S CHILD PART VI

One day, my mother’s sister took me to the beach with her husband and their children. Of course, I was very happy.

When we arrived, I ran around joyfully, playing with the sand and the waves. Suddenly, one of her sons told me to sit on a float.

I sat on it, not realizing it was a trap. He suddenly pushed me far into the sea until I fell off and began to drown. I remember seeing only people’s legs standing in the water before everything went blurry.

Apparently, his other brother became worried because I didn’t resurface for a long time. He finally pulled me out of the sea — I survived, but that was how cruel her son was to me.

After playing for a long time, I grew hungry, but they didn’t give me any food. They only fed their own children and bought them ice cream. I could only watch, wishing they would share with me, but they never did.

Every time one of their children had a birthday, I was always the only child in the neighborhood who wasn’t invited. All the neighbors’ children were there — except me. It was as if I was worthless in their eyes, as if I wasn’t part of their family at all.

In fact, every time anyone in that alley had a birthday, I was the only one who was never invited. They purposely isolated and humiliated me.

Once, while I was sweeping the floor in my aunt’s house, I heard her scolding her middle daughter. It turned out the girl had cut her own bangs too short, but she accused me of doing it. My aunt immediately hit me with a feather duster and forced me to confess to something I didn’t do. I had to admit it just to stop her from beating me.

Another time, her middle daughter was playing near a motorcycle, and it accidentally fell on both of us. Everyone rushed to help her — no one helped me. I was left lying there in pain.

One day, my aunt told me to watch over her small shop. While I was there, her youngest daughter ate an entire jar of candy that was meant for sale. When her mother found out, the little girl blamed me. I had no choice but to take the blame again, even though I hadn’t eaten a single piece.

Another time, her eldest daughter was cooking, and when my aunt tasted the food and said it wasn’t good, the girl quickly said that I was the one who had cooked it.

Every day was filled with suffering — physical and emotional pain.

The story of my life is truly sorrowful; even fairy tales could never be as sad as the story I have lived.

PART I Click Here

PART II Click Here

PART III Click Here

PART IV Click Here

PART V Click Here

PART VI Click Here

PART VIIClick Here

PART VIII Click Here

PART IX Click Here

PART X Click Here