Three young faces beaming with carefree smiles in front of the camera. I stood in the middle, arms linked with the other two. I was smiling the brightest, but a gap where my right canine tooth should have been made me look a bit silly.
It was the middle of summer when I was 13 years old.
Debt collectors stormed into Kelly’s home, shouting threats of violence. None of the neighbors dared to help her, including my own parents, except me.
The punch that was meant for her face, unexpectedly, landed on mine.
My teeth shattered instantly and my face swelled for over half a month.
Heartbroken, my mother forbade me from seeing the Jackson Family again.
But unexpectedly, Mrs. Jackson, Kelly's mother, dragged her crippled legs, knelt before my parents and bowed her head repeatedly in gratitude. And so my mother's heart softened.
For nearly ten years, through spring, summer, autumn and winter, Kelly's eating utensils frequently appeared on our dining table and during holidays, new girly clothes added to our wardrobe.
When my mother had free time, she would help Mrs. Jackson run the stall. If anyone dared bully them, she'd unleash a torrent of curses that scared them away for good.