Bloom for Me When I'm Gone

When I was seven, I stole a phone and called my mother's family. That was how I finally got her out of the compound where my father had kept her prisoner. When my grandfather stormed into the cellar, Mom was chained by the neck, with bloodstained whips scattered at her feet. He beat my father nearly to death. The man spent the rest of his life paralyzed and bedridden. Before Mom got into the car, she reached for me through her tears. "Evan, come with me." I grabbed the hem of her coat—and then I remembered my previous life. Back then, she had taken me with her. Her family had never accepted her for bringing home the son of the man who destroyed her life. She endured years of contempt for my sake and eventually died sick and penniless in a rented room. If she took me again, she would never escape that nightmare. So I dug my nails into my palm and slapped her hand away. "Go! You were just the woman Dad bought to give him a child! I never loved you!" The car door closed. Only then did I run after it, sobbing. But I didn't dare call her Mom. I was afraid that if she heard me, she would turn around.