Erasing The Night Of My Birth
Language: en
Maybe my existence was a glitch in the universe. A mistake that never should have been coded into reality. That realization didn’t fully click until I was twelve, the year my brother was born. I remember trying to change his diaper—he was this tiny, screaming pink thing—and I was clumsy, my hands shaking. My mother didn't just stop me; she threw me against the hallway wall with a force that made my teeth rattle. The look in her eyes wasn't just anger. It was a cocktail of pure loathing and bone-deep terror. She shrieked at me, demanding to know what I was trying to do to her son. Then came…