Pure Hatred Between Mother and Son

Mom was in poor health and went through a lot to get pregnant with me. The doctor said I couldn’t be kept, but she insisted. I received daily injections to maintain my nutrition and health during my mom’s pregnancy. After each one, I would move uncomfortably in her stomach.

Mom endured the pain to comfort me, “Be good, baby. You must grow up healthy.”

She had severe pregnancy symptoms, vomiting after eating, then forced herself to eat again, all for my health. To make Mom feel better, I didn’t dare move, no matter how uncomfortable I felt.

Suddenly Mom asked the doctor, “Doctor, can I have the baby soon? Her sister is waiting for her umbilical cord blood and bone marrow to save her life.”

It turned out that Mom only loved my umbilical cord blood and bone marrow. Rather than becoming a human organ bank for my sister, I would rather be reborn.

——

After Mom asked if she could have a cesarean section right away, I started to stir violently in her stomach. Unlike before, when I had grown up obediently in her belly, Mom felt the power of fetal movement for the first time in a long time.

Mom lay weakly in bed and Dad said in annoyance, “This child was always quiet and didn’t bother you before, why is he making such a fuss this time?”

Mom gritted her teeth and said, “He’s a debt collector. If it weren’t for Bianca, I wouldn’t have kept him.”

“Bianca is so sweet. I didn’t suffer when she was born.” When Mom mentioned my sister, her tone was filled with pride and tenderness.

But I was also a good child. My mother wasn’t well and I felt uncomfortable in her body. My whole body was aching, but I grew up obediently in her belly.

My mother asked Dad in detail about my sister’s condition, even the smallest details about her diet. My father answered Mom earnestly. Both of them seemed to have forgotten about me in her belly.

I listened silently, thinking, if Mom said she loved me, I would continue to be her child, even if my birth was full of calculations. But Mom’s hardship for me was real. I waited and waited, until finally Mom mentioned me.

I heard my mother happily say, “The doctor said this child’s liver, kidneys and heart are developing well. All my hard work paid off. Even if Bianca suffers kidney failure later, there will be replacement organs.”

I felt like my breath had stopped. I wanted to cry. At only six months old, I was facing a cruel reality. My mother didn’t love me at all. I wanted to tell her that I’d waited eighty years to be reborn, that I’d waited a long, long time to be her child. I also wanted to tell her that I was actually terrified, feeling unwell every day, but I forced myself to absorb nutrients and grow up to have a safe birth. I guessed my luck was truly bad.

The nurse came to give my mother another injection. This time, it was in my stomach. Every time I saw the needle go in, I was terrified and resisted, but for my mother, I held it in.

But now, I didn’t want to hold it in. I didn’t want to be your child anymore. I kicked my mother’s belly and she cried out in pain.

The nurse looked at the bulging belly and felt awkward holding the needle. But Mom kept shouting, “Inject! I don’t believe I can’t cure this debt collector in my belly.”

She even cursed the nurse, “What are you standing there for? If this baby doesn’t come out, you can forget about your job as a nurse!”

No matter how hard I punched and kicked her belly, they still found a chance to give her an injection.

After the injection, I felt sleepy and my hands and feet relaxed. Mom was sweating all over and screaming in pain.

“Bianca, Bianca.” Mom kept repeating that name, as if the name gave her immense courage.

Dad screamed, “Blood? You’re bleeding!”

Mom was rushed to the emergency room. I felt so sleepy, as if I could die at any moment. That’s fine. I could continue to wait in line for reincarnation.

Mom, it was better not to give birth to an unloved child. I was still in your belly.

I heard from the doctors and nurses around me that Mom used her supernatural powers to keep me alive. The price she paid was bedridden until I was born and three injections a day to maintain my pregnancy.

Mom didn’t care; she only cared about when I could be delivered by cesarean section. My sister’s condition worsened and she needed my umbilical cord blood and bone marrow.

To ensure I could be delivered alive by cesarean section at seven months old, she began taking all kinds of supplements. Traditional medicine, bird’s nest, sea cucumber—anything nutritious. I didn’t like the taste. I kicked upward with all my might, successfully hitting my mother’s stomach.

“Ugh.” Mom vomited out the undigested nutrients.

But she was very determined. After she vomited, she continued to have people bring her the nutrients and whenever she drank, I kicked. She even vomited bile. I was exhausted from kicking and I struggled weakly through the amniotic fluid for a few seconds, but she didn’t give up.

Mom played my sister’s singing voice and while listening to her, she drank bowl after bowl of bitter traditional Chinese medicine.

In that instant, I felt a strong hatred for my sister, whom I had never met. Why should both my parents love her? What have I done wrong? Why should I give my everything to my sister? I don’t want a life like this. I gathered myself, my strength exhausted, so I grabbed my uterus with my hands.

Mom writhed on the bed, one hand clutching her stomach, the other covering her mouth. My mother’s cries are truly pitiful and many people are watching from the door of her hospital room.

“I know her. She’s been in the hospital since she became pregnant, spending at least hundreds of thousands of dollars just to keep this baby alive.”

“Plus, she had this child because her first child had a blood disease and she only conceived this one for the sake of the umbilical cord blood and bone marrow.”

“This child hasn’t even been born yet and she’s been categorized as a poor choice. How pitiful.”

Hearing these words, I worked even harder.

When I was waiting in line in the underworld, I’d seen children like me, born for medical treatment. He had a miserable life. Not only did he have to have blood drawn, but he also restricted in what he ate every day. He was literally living for the child before him. Because bone marrow extractions were done too frequently, he had to wait in line again at the age of seven. But he was happy.

“That’s great! If I die, I won’t have to go through surgery. I must be reborn into a good family this time. I want fried chicken and Coke.”

I shuddered. These days were horrible. I didn’t want to be born into a family like this.

“Mom!” A little girl, her hair completely bald, appeared at the ward door, accompanied by her father.

She was thin and tiny and looked frail. This was the first time I saw my sister.

When Mom saw my sister, it was as if she were recharged with strength. She forced a smile.

“Why is Bianca here? Did you eat well today?”

The mother and daughter talked affectionately and I listened quietly, imagining myself as my sister. Mom would gently touch my smiling face, hug me lovingly and blame herself for not giving me a healthy body.

My sister touched Mom’s belly and asked, “Mom, if you have another child, does that mean you don’t love me anymore?”

Mom shook her belly firmly, “You’re my only child. This one in my belly was born just for you. You’ll always be my treasure.”

My sister looked at me anxiously and asked again, “What if my brother is healthier than me? If I had my brother’s health, wouldn’t Mom and Dad have to worry about me?”

My father’s eyes were filled with tears at my sister’s understanding. He hugged Mom and sister in his arms, his voice choking with sobs.

He said, “No, even if Mom and Dad have other children, you’re still the most important.”

They cried outside and I cried in my mom’s belly. I refused to listen to their plans. I wanted to make their efforts go in vain. I pulled the umbilical cord and bit down hard.

“Ah!” Mom cried out in pain. Cold sweat soaked Mom’s clothes.

After Mom had Dad take my sister out, she cursed at her belly. “Are you a beast? Don’t you know how hard your sister has waited for you? And if you’re still making a fuss, what if it affects the quality of your umbilical cord blood? All my hard work will be in vain!”

What baby wanted to be born with a purpose? I hated my sister, I hated my mother, I hated my father.

I tugged at the umbilical cord, spinning in circles in my belly. Mom was in so much pain she couldn’t even scream. I thought I’d die after all this suffering. But her superpowers were truly remarkable. Although she was weakened, I’ve managed to stay safely inside her belly.

“You’re truly not as good as Bianca. I gave birth to Bianca peacefully and without suffering. Only this…” Mom, concerned about the presence of others, stopped talking. I knew she wanted to scold me.

It was so obvious whether she loved me or not. I was almost seven months old and she still hadn’t given me a name. The other child kept calling me and she only called me baby when she was in a good mood.

I felt a little anxious. I was almost seven months pregnant. Mom and Dad had discussed having me delivered by cesarean section. At that point, life and death were no longer my decision.

The doctor told Mom not to get out of bed and to urinate and defecate in bed, otherwise the baby might not survive. The doctor’s tone was stern.

Mom asked, puzzled, “Didn’t they say the fetus was healthy? How could it suddenly become so serious?”

She became agitated, “I followed the doctor’s instructions to care for the baby and took every injection to maintain it. How could he not survive?”

I was my sister’s hope. The doctor said I was never going to survive in the first place and that medication was used to force it.

Mom was furious and scolded me again. She called me a loser and a worthless person. But soon she had no time for me.

My sister fell ill and was admitted to the ICU. But Mom, despite the doctor’s advice, got out of bed. My parents watched my sister through the glass door. Mom was grief-stricken and her grief directly affected me, but I felt only annoyance. After all, I was just an innocent baby. I didn’t want to live for my sister.

Mom couldn’t bear to see my sister lying sick in the hospital bed. She frantically grabbed the doctor and asked, “Can we do a C-section now? My daughter can’t wait!”

The doctor was shocked by this crazy decision. He quickly dissuaded her, “The child’s lungs aren’t fully developed yet. A C-section now would have a very low chance of survival.”

A flicker of hesitation flashed in my mother’s eyes, but she didn’t want to care anymore. All she had eyes for was my sister.

“It’s none of your business whether the child lives or dies. Even if she dies, I won’t hold you doctors responsible. I just want my daughter to be safe! That’s his only purpose in life!” She poked her belly hard, as if to emphasize something.

My father held her, preventing her from hurting herself. What a wonderful, magnificent motherly love. If it weren’t for my sacrifice… I became even more determined not to be born. I should hurry up and get back in line. Maybe I could be reborn as a better child.

After the doctor and my father’s persuasion, my mother gave up the decision to have an immediate cesarean section. She was so nervous that she checked the fetal heart rate monitor every hour to make sure it was within normal limits.

This significantly delayed my death. I tried to strangle myself with the umbilical cord, but the machine next to me started blaring warnings.

“Fetal heart rate is dropping, fetal oxygen deprivation, prepare for surgery.”

Frightened, I quickly untied the cord. As long as the mother was weak, the baby could not be saved.

I endured it, staying awake during the day and spending the night spinning and dancing in my mother’s womb. Every time I felt I was doomed, my mother would ask the doctor to give me an injection. Even with such a thick needle, my mother didn’t even blink.

The drugs kept me teetering on the brink of death. Sometimes, she would look at me as if I were her lovely son, but she would quickly regain consciousness.

“Even if it was just hormones, I still love Bianca more. Bianca is my child.”

Under all this high-tech technology, I finally stayed safely inside her belly. As the seventh month approached, Mom’s face lit up with smiles.

One day, Mom’s sister, my aunt, came to visit. Mom took her hand and touched her belly. Mom was actually incredibly thin. She said I had absorbed all her essence and blood. I refused to accept it, saying I was still very small.

Looking at the large hand on her belly, I placed my small hand on it. My aunt clearly sensed it and said with delight, “Hey, he shook my hand. Look, does he like me?”

Mom gave her a blank look. Didn’t understand what she mean.

My aunt hesitated and said, “I think this isn’t right. Bianca is wonderful, but there’s no need to sacrifice another child to save her, right?”

She loved Bianca, too. But not just Bianca; I, the child in her belly, was also her blood relative. The thought of me having to undergo countless bone marrow extractions and possibly even organ transplants for Bianca made her feel suffocated. Was this really the right thing to do?

When Mom heard this, her eyes suddenly turned cold. “I gave him life. He has to obey me no matter what I say. If it weren’t for her sister, he wouldn’t have had the chance to be born. He should be grateful.”

My aunt looked at my mother with a strange gaze.

My mother whispered, “It’s just his bad luck. For Bianca, everything is worth it.”

My mother rubbed her aching waist and touched her belly. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but she looked a little downcast. I didn’t believe in fate. My life was my own.

My mother really listened to the doctor’s advice and never left her bed. She called the doctor as soon as she felt any discomfort in her stomach. I could only anxiously wait for the right moment to have an abortion.

At this time, I still had a glimmer of kindness in my heart; I didn’t want to hurt my mother too much.

When I was barely seven months pregnant, my mother couldn’t wait to have the doctor prepare for a cesarean section. The day before the operation, my mother got out of bed. She was no longer so cautious. She took my sister and father for a walk downstairs.

“Once this child is born tomorrow, my Bianca won’t have to suffer so much.” Mom’s tone was filled with anticipation.

“That’s the meaning of this child’s birth.” Dad agreed.

My sister asked me what my name was.

Mom casually said, “Let’s call him Bryan.”

A child born from Bianca’s injury was naturally not valued. Tears streamed down my face. It was not that I couldn’t die, it was just that those methods were too harmful to my body.

I had to admit that I still had hope for them. I loved Mom. I’ve loved her since I was in her womb. But she didn’t love me. Then I didn’t want her anymore.

I looked at the placenta, reached out and tore it apart. I tried my best to be quick and fierce.