From as far back as I can remember, I knew my mom hated me.

She gives me sleeping pills when I'm three. When I'm five, she tries pesticide instead.

But I'm hard to get rid of. By the time I'm seven, I've already learned how to fight back.

If she refuses to give me food, I flip the table so no one can eat either.

If she beats me up until I'm on the ground, writhing in pain, I go after her beloved son the same way, leaving him bruised and bawling.

That's how we stay locked in battle until I turn 12.

Everything changes when my youngest sister is born.

I'm clumsily trying to help with her wet diaper when Mom suddenly shoves me against the wall. The look in her eyes holds both disgust and fear.

"What were you trying to do to my daughter? I knew it. You take after that monster of a father. Why didn't you just die with him?"

I hold my aching head.

For the first time, I don't fight back. I believe she's right. My existence is a mistake. I should never have been alive.

By the time I managed to limp to Granny's house, night had already fallen.

Granny saw the mess I was in and didn't look surprised. She took out her first aid kit and treated my injuries like she always did, then made me a simple plate of carbonara.

Usually, I would eat while swearing I'd get even the next day.

But this time, I just stared at the food and quietly asked, "Granny… I'm not actually Dad's child, am I?"

She didn't answer, but the rejection and disgust flickering in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. She stood abruptly and started wiping the table over and over, right where the first aid kit had been.

That was when I realized that my blood was something they all wanted to stay away from.

I was the son of a rapist. No wonder Mom hated me.

A sickening feeling rose in my throat. I bolted outside and leaned against the fence, retching.

The night air stung the scrapes on my face.

Before, whenever Mom hit me, I told myself she owed me for every bruise she'd inflicted on me. One day, I'd make her pay them back.

But now, I didn't think I could even look her in the eye.

I didn't stay at Granny's. She didn't come after me either. Instead, I wandered the streets with no idea where to go.

That was when I saw a family outside a restaurant. They were celebrating someone's birthday, smiling and laughing. The woman in the middle was probably the mother. She looked so happy that I instinctively took a step back.

Last year, on Mom's birthday, she'd smiled just like that before she saw me.

The moment she saw me walk in, her smile vanished, replaced with utter disgust.

Back then, we had an essay with the theme, "My Mother."

I wrote that Mom was a heartless villain.

My teacher dragged me into her office and lectured me for an entire period. I barely heard most of it. I only remembered her saying, "No mother in this world would ever stop loving her child."

I believed her. I saved money from collecting recyclables and bought my mom a birthday cake.

I just wanted a hug, the same kind she gave my brother, Casper Willis.

But her frigid expression was like a stab in the heart. I felt like a fool, standing there with that cake in my hands.

Anger overwhelmed me. When no one was looking, I went out and caught a couple of frogs in the garden. Then, I hid them in the cake.

I could still remember the way she screamed when they jumped out.

Back then, I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction.

I thought she didn't deserve to be a mother. I thought she had it coming. But now, I know the truth.

The one who didn't deserve anything was me. My existence itself had hurt her.

As I watched that mother's smile through the restaurant window, I made a decision.

This year, for Mom's birthday, I would give her a gift she would truly be happy with, one that would free her completely.

I decided to die.

Once that thought took root in my mind, my steps felt lighter.

I even started planning how to do it without troubling anyone. I needed to do something that wouldn't leave a mess.

But before I could carry out my plan, a patrolling officer spotted me and brought me home.

Mom answered the door.

As the door shut behind us, I stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.

Her icy tone sliced through the air. "Why didn't you just die out there?"

I almost snapped back, but I forced the words down before they came out.

Still, as I stared at her back, I couldn't stop myself from asking, "What would you do… if I really did die?"

Would she be the least bit sad?

"If you've got the guts, hurry up and do it. I'd celebrate."

She walked straight into my siblings' room and closed the door.

I stood rooted to my spot in the living room. After a long while, I wiped my face and let out a humorless laugh.

Mom would definitely like the birthday present I had prepared.

…

The kid who collected recyclables with me was an orphan named Samuel Hudson. He grew up bouncing from home to home and always knew how to find money where no one else would look.

After school, I bought him a popsicle.

We sat on the curb together, and I lowered my voice to ask how a person could die in a way that looked like an accident.

Samuel stared at me like I'd grown two heads. Then, he shoved the half-eaten popsicle into my hand. "Stay away from me. I'm not doing anything illegal," he said.

I blinked, holding two popsicles. "Illegal? What are you talking about? I'm serious. How does someone, you know… accidentally die? Preferably without too much pain, though. They might be scared."

He sucked in a sharp breath and tried to run.

I dropped the popsicles and grabbed him before he could get away. "You ate my treat. You're helping me whether you like it or not!"

Samuel gave up and plopped onto the sidewalk, looking miserable. "Dude, you have your parents. Why are you trying to die? Yeah, they hit you a lot—but they don’t exactly starve you either. Look at your arms. You're stronger than me."

The words stuck in my throat.

I wanted to tell him it was exactly because they weren't completely evil or kind that it hurt so much.

Now that I knew how I came to be, I couldn't even justify the anger and resentment I felt.

I didn't think I could keep living like this.

But saying any of that out loud would only cause more trouble for Mom, so I said hoarsely, "Just answer me. Are you helping or not?"

He wailed, "You're trying to kill your mom! Why would I get involved in that?"

I froze, staring at him in confusion. When did I ever say that?

Before I could explain, a shrill cry cut through the air. "Bad Guy's trying to hurt Mom!"

My brain stalled. Slowly, I turned toward the sound. It was my brother, Casper.

He burst out crying and screaming, sprinting so fast that one of his shoes flew off.

That night, the sound of hitting echoed through the house endlessly. Mom swung a broom at me like I was her worst enemy. Her eyes were red with fury.

But I saw something else, too—the tears in the corner of her eyes.

I'd seen them before. Back then, I thought she was pretending, and I would slam into her and promise that once I grew up, I'd make her pay for everything.

But that night, I curled up on the icy floor and didn't move.

Eventually, the broom slipped from her fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Mom didn't look back. She just stumbled into her room.

A long time passed before I pushed myself up. I heard a muffled sob from behind her door—the kind that only escaped because she was trying so hard to hold it in.

The sob sliced at my heart like a blade.

My face stung, and I collapsed back onto the tiles. I covered my eyes with my arm, but all I felt was moisture.

It wasn't tears. It was blood mixed with dust.

Just like me, it was filthy.

"You know, when she was 19, she cried the same way."

I looked up sharply. Granny stood by the doorway, her cloudy eyes drifting somewhere between me and a memory she couldn't put down.

"That night, she came home with torn clothes and bruises. She didn't cry out loud. She just bit her lip until it bled."

My heart dropped.

"She tried to get rid of you, but she was too weak. After you were born, I abandoned you myself. But the police came the next morning, holding you, saying abandonment is a crime. They said they would check back."

My life was a ridiculous joke. No one welcomed my arrival, yet I was still here.

Granny cleaned my injuries like she always did. She looked tired, but she rambled on, "Don't blame her. She's been hurting for a long time."

I lowered my head and laughed. "Granny, I don't blame her anymore."

I didn't hate Mom anymore, but she still hated me enough to want me gone.

The night she pressed a pillow over my face, she didn't know I was awake. Her hands were shaking, but I didn't struggle. I just closed my eyes and waited.

Just as my lungs were burning, someone yanked Mom off me with tremendous force.

Granny's voice was hoarse and shaking. "Have you lost your mind? Are you really going to throw your life away again because of him? It's not worth it! Once was enough…"

Mom collapsed into her arms and let out a broken sob. "Mom, I can't take it anymore. What if he turns out just as bad as his father?"

Granny held her tightly, but her eyes shifted toward me.

For a moment, I thought she saw that my eyes were half-open, but she only whispered calmly, "Let's go back to bed."

Mom's crying faded into the distance. I lay there, gasping for air, then pulled the blanket over my face and rolled onto my side.

I had no idea how long it was before dawn started to break. That was when Granny walked in, carrying a large enamel cup.

It was filled with steaming mushroom soup.

Drinking mushroom soup first thing in the morning was strange, but she simply set the cup on my nightstand and said, her voice as steady as the deep lines on her face, "Drink."

I understood what she meant. I almost wanted to tell her they were in such a hurry. If they had waited a few more days, I would've died without anyone noticing.

Now, if I died, they would have a lot more trouble to deal with.

I said nothing and picked up the cup, the heat stinging my hands.

I tilted my head back and swallowed every drop. The strange bitterness spread from my tongue all the way to my chest.

When it was empty, I set it back on the nightstand, lay down again, pulled the blanket over myself, and waited for the end to come.

Granny picked up the empty cup. She stood there for a few seconds, said nothing, and walked out.

The effects came quickly. Pain twisted through my stomach, followed by a cold that spread across my body until my teeth were chattering.

My vision blurred, and sounds grew distant.

I heard Granny pacing back and forth. It seemed like she was making a phone call, then came the blaring siren of an ambulance, hurried voices, harsh lights.

Under the white glare of the hospital lamps, a tube was forced down my throat so they could pump my stomach. I gagged until my chest felt like it was tearing open. Tears and mucus were smeared all over my face.

A young doctor glanced at me, then at Granny's ashen face, his brows deeply furrowed.

"What happened? Is there something wrong with the…"

He lowered his voice, suspicion creeping in.

With the last bit of strength I had left, I clutched at his sleeve. My voice came out rough and barely audible. "It was me… I took the medicine myself."

He froze. His eyes shifted toward me with something complicated behind them.

I let go, collapsed against the bed, and stared up at the ceiling.

Being hard to kill might be its own kind of curse. Even dying felt out of reach for me.

Granny stood by the bed, her back hunched, her gray hair brushing against her cheeks. Before I closed my eyes, I thought I saw a tear slide down her face and drop onto the floor.

…

After I was discharged, home felt like a frozen grave.

The walls were still white. The furniture was still neat, but everyone in the house looked drained, as if someone had taken all the life out of them.

I became more obedient than ever. I ate quietly, went to and from school quietly, and worked quietly.

I turned myself into a silent shadow, trying not to take up any space. I even started disciplining Casper.

"Be good. Don't make Mom angry," I told him, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with a rare calmness.

He looked up at me, confused, but there was a hint of reliance in his eyes.

As for my baby sister, Janet Willis, Mom guarded her like I was a thief.

I still found a way to sneak into town to go to the church that people claimed was miraculous. I only had a couple of dollars in my pocket, but I spent them all and bought a lucky charm.

When Mom was spacing out in the kitchen during Janet's afternoon nap, I slipped in like a ghost and tucked the charm into the corner of Janet's blanket.

I hoped she would grow up safe.

Then, I decided to leave.

I was a coward. If I wasn't going to die, then disappearing would have to do. No goodbyes were needed.

It was a sweltering summer afternoon. The sun beat down so hard it made me dizzy. I walked aimlessly along the dusty path by the reservoir.

Then, a sharp, panicked scream echoed.

"Connor!"

I spun around and saw Casper lose his footing and plunge into that deep, murky water.