Chapter 2

My mother's hatred of me was not without a reason. After she gave birth to me, my father disappeared without a word.

Half a year later, he came back with divorce papers in hand and admitted he had already found someone else.

My mother, still recovering physically from the birth, sank into postpartum depression and once even thought about ending her life.

Every time she looked at my face, so much like his, it dragged her back through all that pain. From the moment I was born, what she felt for me was mostly disgust, and I never once knew what a mother's love felt like.

If Miles's father had not come into her life and pulled her out of that darkness, she probably would not be alive today.

A few years later, she had Miles, and she cherished him like a treasure. My presence only made me feel more like a burden.

If she had not held onto some last thread of pity, she probably would have dumped me on the street a long time ago.

Over the years, I tried to make myself as invisible as possible at home, so I would not disturb the happiness of their little family of three. I was terrified of actually being thrown out.

But what child in this world does not want their mother's love?

For years, I did everything I could to be good and obedient. I stayed at the top of my class, doted on Miles like a proper older brother, and never fought him for anything. Whatever he wanted, I gave up to him without question.

After every meal, I cleared the table and washed the dishes. Every night after finishing my homework, I helped my mother with the housework, doing laundry and mopping floors. Even on weekends, while other kids played outside, I sat quietly at home reading, waiting for whatever she needed from me.

I thought that if I kept this up, she would slowly come to accept me, maybe even love me.

I was wrong.

For as long as I could remember, the thing she said to me most often was, "You're just like your father, always putting on an act. God knows what kind of rot you're hiding under that pretty face."

Little by little, Miles seemed to catch on that our mother disliked me, and he found every way he could to make my life harder.

I did not want to upset her, so I put up with him. But my patience never earned me any mercy. It only made him bolder.

He would tell the kids at school I was some bastard nobody's child, so no one would play with me. Sometimes he would wait until I fell asleep, then tear up my homework, just so I would get punished by the teacher the next day. He even lied to our mother and told her I was the one bullying him.

Every time she got angry and hit me for it, he would duck behind her and shoot me a smug little look, as if to say she would only ever love one son in this life, and I was nothing but the backdrop to make him shine.

Before long, petty tricks were not enough for Miles anymore.

He went to my stepfather and told him I resented him for stealing our mother's love, and that I had deliberately hit him, when the truth was he had hurt himself falling off his bike.

That was enough to turn my once-tolerant stepfather against me too. He would point in my face and snap, "The rot runs in the family, doesn't it?" and threaten to send me to an orphanage if I ever laid a hand on his son again.

I tried to explain everything to my mother once. She did not just refuse to believe me. She accused me of slandering Miles.

I got down on my knees and begged her to believe me, but she just kicked me down. "Scott, don't push your luck. Isn't it enough that you get food and a roof over your head? Don't you know you're an outsider in this house?

"If I'd known you'd cause me this much trouble, I never should have brought a curse like you into this world."

After that, knowing my place as an outsider, I never dared say much of anything again. I just wanted to grow up as fast as I could.

What I never expected was that even after I grew up, I still could not escape Miles's clutches.