I used to believe that life would eventually get better. That pain wasn't meant to last forever, and maybe, just maybe, I would find a place where I truly belonged. But life had a cruel way of proving me wrong every single time.
Guess what? I was seven years old when my mother abandoned me.
I still remembered that day vividly, the sharp click of her heels against the pavement, the way her perfume clung to me like a robe around my neck.
It was a rainy night. Not the soft, gentle kind that made people run for shelter, but a relentless downpour that soaked everything in its path. I shivered in my thin sweater, my hands gripping the sides of my wheelchair, my heart pounding with a fear I couldn't name.
"Mom?" My voice was small, almost drowned out by the sound of raindrops hitting the metal frame of my chair.
Mom didn't answer. She never did when she didn't want to face the truth.
I watched as she turned away, her shoulders stiff, her body trembling, not from the cold, but from something far worse. Guilt, maybe? Or regret.
"You'll be fine, Elaena," she said, but her voice was hollow, it was empty. With no emotions. "They'll take care of you."
I didn't understand. Not at first. I didn't understand why she wouldn't meet my eyes, why she wouldn't hold my hand the way she used to when I was younger. I didn't understand why she was leaving me here, in front of a strange, gray building with rusted gates and broken windows.
I waited for her to turn around and come back to me and then, just then it hit me.
She wasn't coming back.
"No," I whispered, my fingers curling into fists. "Mom, please…"
She walked away. Just like that. No goodbye. No last hug. No second glance.
She disappeared in the rain, and I was left there, abandoned.
I wanted to run after her, but my legs had long since given up on me. The accident had stolen my ability to walk, leaving me half-paralyzed, I had become a prisoner in my own body.
I screamed.
I screamed until my throat burned, until my voice cracked, until the sound of my own agony became too much for me to bear. But mom, she never turned back.
That was the day I learned that love was a lie. That no matter how much you begged, no matter how much you ached for it, some people would never love you enough to stay.
My dad? I never met him. He must probably be dead just like mom abandoned me.
Things happen but life goes on.
I was taken in by the government and then it became another round of torment.
I was sent to stay with people but My foster homes were never really homes. They were just places I passed through, like an unwanted package that no one knew what to do with.
Some families were kind enough, distant but polite. Others barely acknowledged my existence. And then there were the ones who made it clear that they had only taken me in for the monthly government checks.
I stopped trying to make friends. Stopped hoping for something better.
I learned to be invisible.
By the time I was sixteen, I had lost count of how many houses I had lived in. I had memorized the way people's smiles faded when they realized I wasn't like other kids. I couldn't play outside. I couldn't help with chores. I was just there, taking up space, a burden wrapped in flesh and bones.
But I guess I was just waiting for my last foster home to finally break me.
The Johnsons weren't cruel, but they weren't kind either. Their daughter, Hannah, made sure I knew that I was unwanted.
I rolled my wheelchair to the fridge and took a bottle of water and then I drove to the window.
It was dark, I hated the dark.
"Why are you even here?" just then I heard Hannah sneered, standing over me as I sat by the window. "No one wants a cripple in their family."
I didn't respond. I had learned long ago that words meant nothing.
But she wasn't done.
"Do you ever wonder why your own mother didn't want you?" She continued, not trying to hide her hate for me. "I bet she looked at you and realized you were useless. A mistake."
That one stung.
Not because I hadn't thought it myself, but because hearing it from someone else made it real.
I clenched my fists, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wouldn't cry. Not in front of her.
"You're pathetic," she muttered, rolling her eyes before walking away.
I sat there in the dark for hours, staring at my reflection in the window, wondering if maybe she was right.
"Good night sister." I muttered.
"I am not your sister! I'd never be your sister." She kept ranting and I just drove my wheels back to the hole I call room
I opened my eyes and checked the time, it was morning.
It wasn't yet time for my nanny to be here.
Mind you, my wheelchair chair was my bed, no one was ever willing to get me off the chair so I made it my safe home.
~~~
It was supposed to be a normal day. Just another miserable, ordinary day.
I was coming home from school, pushing my wheelchair along the sidewalk, my hands aching from the cold.
That's when I heard them.
Hannah and her friends.
They were laughing, whispering, their footsteps growing closer.
"Hey, look! It's the broken girl."
I ignored them.
But they didn't ignore me.
I kept moving.
"Where do you think you're going?" One of the girls stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
"Move," I said
But they didn't.
Instead, Hannah circled behind me, gripping the handles of my wheelchair.
"What's the rush, Elaena?" She cooed, her voice sickly sweet. "We just want to talk."
I knew what "talk" meant. It meant humiliation. It meant pain.
And I was tired.
Tired of being weak.
Tired of being at their mercy.
I grabbed the wheels, trying to push forward, but they held me in place.
Then, without warning, Hannah shoved me.
The world tilted.
I crashed onto the pavement, my body twisting at an awkward angle, pain shooting through my side.
Laughter.
I heard their laughter as I struggled to breathe, my chest tightening, my vision blurring.
"Fool."
I lay there for what felt like hours, the sky above me stretching endlessly, as if mocking me.
I didn't cry.
I didn't scream.
I just existed.
I don't know how long I stayed there before I forced myself to move.
With trembling hands, I pushed myself upright, ignoring the sharp pain in my ribs.
I had to get home.
I had to keep moving.
But my arms were weak, my body exhausted. Every push of the wheels felt like dragging a mountain.
And then I heard it.
The honking of a horn.
I turned my head.
A truck.
Too fast.
Too close.
For the first time in years, I felt something other than pain.
I felt at peace.
Because maybe, just maybe, this was the end. Maybe I won't have to wake up tomorrow. Maybe I wouldn't have to fight anymore.
The impact was sudden.
A flash of pain.
A sharp, crushing force.
And then… nothing.
I felt the darkness swallowed me whole, and for the first time in my life, I welcomed it.
Finally, it was over.