The burning pain shot through me.
Ironically, I had woken up before dawn yesterday to cook that very porridge for him.
And now, it still burned me to the bone.
Tyler watched as red welts bloomed on my skin. Satisfied, he turned and left.
A nurse rushed in, changed my bedding and carefully applied medicine to my arm.
She hesitated before finally whispering, "Some children… just can't be raised."
I stared at the bandages covering my body. Tears slipped silently down my face.
She was right.
Even an outsider could see it.
Yet I had spent ten years believing that sincerity could win sincerity. But whether it was David—the boy I had once called my childhood sweetheart—or Tyler—the child I had raised since he was small…
The only thing my love had ever earned me was cruelty.
I spent over half a month in the hospital.
None of them came to visit me.
Not once.
When I was finally discharged, I hired a caretaker, sat in my wheelchair and went back to the Gunn Family home to collect my things.
But the moment I stepped inside, I froze.
The very people who had ignored my existence for weeks were now gathered in the living room, laughing, talking, celebrating.
And at the center of it all—