Chapter 1

My mom always said my birth was a form of moral blackmail, orchestrated by my grandma.

I was the intruder who shattered my DINK parents' perfect life: one husband, one wife, one dog.

She could stay up for three nights straight to nurse our sick poodle, but wouldn't spare a second for me when a fever sent me into convulsions.

When my allergy to dog hair made me stop breathing, my mom shipped me off to the country without a second thought.

She told me, "I never wanted you."

"I can give you life, but I can't give you love, and I'll be damned if I let anyone use a child to hijack my life ever again."

For the longest time, I never understood why my mom didn't love me.

It wasn't until I was grown, and she was apologizing through a flood of tears, that I finally understood that you just can't force love.

...

My mom believed my arrival was a long-con, a guilt trip my grandma had been planning for ages.

Back then, Grandma got really sick, and her dying wish was to see a grandchild before she passed.

But that flew directly in the face of my mom's dream of a child-free life.

My dad, James, loved my mom to his very bones, so he took all the pressure on himself.

And my mom, Amanda, loved him just as much.

She couldn't bear to see the man she loved torn between his family and her, so in the end, she gave in.

From the moment she got pregnant with me, a dark cloud seemed to hang over her.

Watching her belly swell and the stretch marks creep across her skin, Mom finally broke, sobbing as she frantically beat her own stomach.

Grandma stood by, terrified and helpless, begging her to stop.

She pleaded with her to think of the baby, if not for herself.

That one sentence hit a raw nerve.

That day, my mom went on a rampage, smashing everything in the house and screaming her head off at Grandma.

Mom wailed, "If you hadn't pushed James to the brink of depression, do you think I would have ever agreed to have a baby?"

"You destroyed my life just to satisfy your own selfish need for a grandchild, so what right do you have to make demands of me now?"

Tears welled up in Grandma's eyes as she stood there, not daring to say another word, just apologizing over and over.

She knew she had done something selfish.

Mom's outburst was so intense it caused a hemorrhage, and she went into premature labor.

She nearly died giving birth to me, and besides Grandma, no one was happy about my arrival.

Dad blamed me for what happened to Mom, giving me one cold look before rushing to her side.

My frail grandma held me, all four pounds of me, and let out a long sigh.

"What a terrible thing I've done," she whispered.

"I've wronged your mother, and I've wronged you."

She named me Chloe, hoping her precious granddaughter's life would be filled with hope.

Back home, the little poodle my mom called her "son," Teddy, eyed me with suspicion.

Mom had slept and eaten with him throughout her pregnancy, and he seemed to sense that I was not welcome in this house, baring his teeth and barking wildly at me.

As a newborn, my vision was just a blur, and I had no idea what was happening, so I just screamed.

Grandma was about to scold Teddy, but she caught my mom's warning glare and pale face, and quietly carried me back to my room.

Through the door, I could hear Mom cooing to her "son."

"Don't you worry, baby, no one in this house will ever replace you."

Worried about her figure, Mom refused to breastfeed me.

I was lactose intolerant, and the terrible colic made me cry day and night.

My mom was an art professor at the local university, a woman with an extreme passion for aesthetics.

My dad was an English professor there, a man who loved poetry and far-off places.

My arrival shattered their beautiful fantasy of what life should be.

The constant sound of my crying drove them mad, and they moved out of the house and into the faculty dorms on campus.

The dorms didn't allow pets, so Teddy had to stay behind.

My parents came home once a week, but not to see me.

They came to see the dog.

Every time Mom came back, she would hug the poodle and whisper gently, "Just hang in there a little longer, baby. Mommy will buy a big house soon and you can come live with me."

There was truly no room for me in my mother's life plan.

One day, while Grandma was in the kitchen, Teddy, who was supposed to be shut out on the balcony, escaped and bit down hard on my back.

He left more than a dozen scratches of different lengths, and the blood soaked through my clothes.

For the first time, Grandma got truly angry and demanded they take the dog away.

Mom glanced nonchalantly at the wounds on my back.

"My baby is a good boy; he never bites," she said.

"She must have provoked him first, that's why he bit her."

"Besides, it's a good lesson for her. Kids don't learn if they don't feel a little pain."

"Teddy is a member of this family, and nobody is making him leave!"

At two years old, I could already grasp the general meaning of my mom's words.

I ran to her side, trying to tell her I didn't bother the dog, that my back hurt and I wanted a hug.

Seeing me, Mom just sneered.

"Look at her, she's running around just fine. Nothing's wrong with her."

Then she put down the bag of imported dog food and freeze-dried treats, reminding Grandma to feed Teddy on schedule.

I watched my mom's back as she walked away, a strange sense of injustice swelling in my chest, and I stumbled after her, crying and calling out, "Mama."

Hearing that word, she paused for a moment.

But she didn't turn around.