Chapter 1
When I was ten, my dad passed away from liver cancer.
The Child Protective Services decided to send me off to my birth mom, Serena Lane, a woman I hadn't seen in a decade.
The day I left, I put on the only clean shirt in my closet and pulled my hair into a tight ponytail.
With all the other kids raised by relatives in the small town watching me with envy, I climbed onto the bus bound for the city.
People always said kids with moms were spoiled rotten, and now I wasn't just some unwanted weed anymore.
With my heart full of hope, I spent twelve long hours on the road before I finally met my mom.
But what greeted me wasn't the warm hug I'd dreamed of; it was a barrage of hysterical yelling and insults.
She glared at me, her face twisted with fear and disgust as she screamed.
Mom said, "Why did you come looking for me? Why didn't you just die with your rapist father?
"Just seeing you brings back all the nightmares I can't escape. You disgust me.
"Go die. Go die!"
In that moment, every last bit of hope I had was shattered in an instant.
So it turned out that just being here was enough to make her fall apart.
If she hated me this much, maybe I should just die.
*****
The night before I left the small town, Martha Wilde stopped by my house to give me some advice.
She said, "Emily, when you get to Serena's place, be good and do as she says. No matter how she treats you, always remember that every mom loves her child.
"She's had a tough time here, so try to cut her some slack."
After she finished, her rough hand gently brushed my cheek. After a long moment, she let out a soft sigh, saying, "Poor thing."
Then she shook her head and walked away. A gust of wind swept through the room, leaving my heart all fluttery.
What kind of suffering did Mom go through?
It wasn't until the social worker brought me right up to her that I finally saw the truth for myself.
When she smashed a cup into my forehead, that's when I realized that everything I'd ever believed was a lie.
Growing up, folks in the small town always said my folks fell in love on their own, and Dad blew through every last dime he had to marry Mom.
But in the end, Mom couldn't stand being poor, so she ditched her husband and daughter and took off to the city for a better life.
But now I finally knew the truth. She was abducted to this backwoods mountain town, and Dad forced himself on her until she got pregnant with me.
My grandma, Susan Carter, kept her locked up for the entire 9 months of her pregnancy, so she couldn't escape.
How did she even make it through those 9 months?
I couldn't let myself dwell on it. My head felt like it was about to burst.
Blood streamed down my forehead, and everything around me went quiet, except for the sound of my own breathing, loud in my ears.
Grace Zimmerman, who'd come with me, shouted, "What the hell is wrong with you? Child abuse is illegal; you could end up in jail for this!"
Grace gently cleaned up the blood on my forehead, then shot Mom a glare and told her to back off.
Mom's screaming finally broke down into low, muffled sobs.
After I came to my senses for a moment, I grabbed onto Grace's sleeve and whispered, barely audible.
I said, "Ms. Zimmerman, I don't want to live with my mom anymore. Could you send me to a foster home instead?"
I said something I didn't mean.
I just wanted to stay with Mom, even if she hated me, blamed me, hit me, or yelled at me. I wasn't scared.
Martha always said that every mother loved her child.
If I just behaved and didn't fight with my brother Mike, maybe Mom would be happy and share a little of her love with me.
But I knew none of that would ever happen.
Her resentment toward me ran deeper than I ever realized. Just seeing me reminded her of all the pain she tried to hide.
Mom had already been through so much. I didn't want to add to her pain.
"No," Grace said firmly.
Oddly enough, her decisive rejection made me feel a little happy inside.
She set my luggage aside and practically forced me onto the stool.
Then she turned to the adults in the room, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"Emily isn't eligible for foster care. Her biological mother is financially and physically capable of raising her, so she's legally required to stay with her mom.
"If you refuse, that's child abandonment, and you'll face criminal charges for it," Grace said.
As soon as Grace finished talking, Mom's face went from ghostly white to burning red. She shot me a deadly glare, as she'd finally snapped and made up her mind to do something drastic.
She charged into the kitchen, snatched up a knife, and raised her arm high, about to bring it down on me.
The summer storm hit out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning flashed, throwing her rage-twisted face into sharp relief. The sight sent chills down my spine.
"That's enough. Are you really going to throw away the rest of your life for this girl?" Joanna White, my grandmother, shouted, grabbing Mom just in time.
Joanna managed hold Mom back, but the knife still came hurtling toward me.
The blade barely grazed my arm, leaving behind a trail of sharp, stinging pain.
Suddenly, I remembered what Susan used to say; she always called me a stubborn little thing, cursed with a tough fate, the kind that just wouldn't die no matter what.
She wasn't wrong.
My dad was a raging alcoholic, and he'd beat the hell out of me when he got drunk. Once, he booted me so hard he broke my ribs, and the pain kept me bedridden for days.
But in the end, I just ended up healing on my own, without any medicine or help.
And the day after he laid into me, he'd always roast a whole chicken for me to nourish me back up, then slap his own face and beg for my forgiveness.
He always said he loved me.
But if he loved me, why did he have to hurt me that bad? Did loving me mean hurting me like that?
So if Mom hit me, did that mean she actually loved me, too?