I felt like my breath had stopped. I wanted to cry. At only six months old, I was facing a cruel reality. My mother didn't love me at all. I wanted to tell her that I'd waited eighty years to be reborn, that I'd waited a long, long time to be her child. I also wanted to tell her that I was actually terrified, feeling unwell every day, but I forced myself to absorb nutrients and grow up to have a safe birth. I guessed my luck was truly bad.
The nurse came to give my mother another injection. This time, it was in my stomach. Every time I saw the needle go in, I was terrified and resisted, but for my mother, I held it in.
But now, I didn't want to hold it in. I didn't want to be your child anymore. I kicked my mother's belly and she cried out in pain.
The nurse looked at the bulging belly and felt awkward holding the needle. But Mom kept shouting, "Inject! I don't believe I can't cure this debt collector in my belly."
She even cursed the nurse, "What are you standing there for? If this baby doesn't come out, you can forget about your job as a nurse!"
No matter how hard I punched and kicked her belly, they still found a chance to give her an injection.