Revenge is best served cold

From the moment I came into this world, I sensed I was an error. My mother often stood by the window, eyes scanning the horizon, waiting for my father to come home. He had a routine of leaving early and returning late, and for a spell, they lived like any other couple, seemingly content.

During those days, we were like mice scurrying through a shadowy alley, confined to a house that never welcomed sunlight. It felt like a prison for both my mother and me.

I can still picture the day she took me to the market. She wore a stunning dress my father had given her. Before life took its turns, she was a dancer, and when she moved, it was like watching a butterfly take flight-absolutely mesmerizing. But at the market, whispers and pointing fingers followed us everywhere.

"That's her—the one kept by some man, had a kid without getting married."

"She was a dancer, snagged a rich guy, and quit. Dressed up like that, she's clearly out to catch a man."

As the gossip buzzed around, my mother shielded my ears with her hands. But I was old enough to pick up on the disdain in their eyes, almost as if we were some sort of aberration.

"Hey, how much for a pound of these veggies?" my mom asked a stern-faced woman at a stall. The woman scowled and snapped, "Not selling to you. Try somewhere else."

It wasn't just her; no one wanted to sell us food. My mom, ever gentle, didn't complain. She wandered the market until she paused by a butcher's stall. The butcher waved her over, "Come on, I'll sell to you."

Mom hesitated, and suddenly, the man grabbed her arm. His sudden move startled her, and his wife, who had been resting inside, stormed

out, yelling, "So, you're gonenoveldrama

this floozy behind my back? Is this how you want to live?"

The butcher turned pale as his wife approached. He hurriedly let go of my mom

and blurted, "She's the one causing trouble! I just felt bad for her and the kid, wanted to sell them some meat!"

"Are you selling them meat, or is she selling herself to you?" his wife retorted, devoid of any sisterly sympathy.

She gave my mom a scornful look and spat, "What's so special about a club dancer? Just another cheap mistress. If you want to play

someone's lover, don't come bolnet

trying to snag men! Get out of this market, and if I see you again, I'll deal with you!"

Other women joined in, waving brooms to chase us away.

My mom turned pale, but to protect me, she didn't say a word in her defense. Just

held my ears and hurried us out of the market.

I saw the twisted faces of those

people, women envious of my mom's beauty, men longing for what they couldn't have. To me, they were just bottom feeders, not even fit to lace my shoes, yet they dared to mistreat my mom. They only picked on her because she was from

humble beginnings too, and they saw her gentle nature as a weakness.