When Snow Falls on the Tombstone
Language: en
I’ve always dreaded my birthday. Every year, on that day, I had to kneel before my mother’s grave for an entire day. Mom died from an amniotic fluid embolism, the very day she gave birth to me. From then on, I became the family’s culprit. Dad hated me. My grandparents never gave me a kind look. They all said I was the one who killed Mom. On my eighth birthday, I cautiously tugged at Dad’s sleeve, speaking in a small voice, “Dad, I feel so unwell today. Can I… not go to Mom’s grave?” But Dad’s eyes turned red, and he roared at me, “Your mom died giving birth to you! If you don’t go to her…