When I was three years old, my father passed away. At that time, my mother had just given birth to my younger brother, and my grandma, owing to superstition, said that it was my mother and younger brother who had caused my father’s death. For lack of a better option, mom had to take my younger brother to her father’s house to live, so from the start of my earliest memories I was living together with my grandpa and grandma. Although my grandpa and grandma treated me well, I still felt lonely and really wanted to be together with my mom and little brother. I longed for the same kind of motherly love that other kids received. Really, what I was asking for wasn’t much—all I wanted was a true family, a mother who loved me dearly, who could share her true feelings with me. But even this small ask turned into
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