Chapter 2

My mom was twenty when my uncle was sixteen.

He had already dropped out of school three years prior.

My grandparents had arranged a marriage for him, but they didn’t have enough for the bride price.

The family put their heads together and turned their gaze to my mom, who had always been their live-in laborer.

They found a match for my mom.

It was an older widower from the neighboring village, known for being a good-for-nothing. Rumor had it he’d dabbled in some shady business and had a bit of money.

My mom refused. She would rather stay home her entire life and serve her parents.

But my mom wasn’t allowed to refuse. They didn’t even hold a wedding; my mom was simply packed up and sent to the neighboring village.

My grandparents took the money, immediately forgot about my mom, and lavishly arranged my uncle’s marriage.

My mom tried to come home.

But even the neighboring village was dozens of miles away.

Plus, the old widower knew my mom’s intentions and kept a tight watch on her.

In the three years my mom was married, she never returned home once.

In the second year, my mom got pregnant and gave birth to me.

My mom became a mother in such a bewildering way.

Because I was sickly and a girl.

The old widower would often beat my mom and me.

In my childhood memories, I couldn’t clearly see the old widower’s face.

But I could always see my mom carefully shielding me, a gentle, indescribable look in her eyes.

“Iris, Mom’s right here.”

I felt for my mom, but my mom felt even more for me.

She raised me until I was five, and finally, fate seemed to open its eyes.

The old widower got drunk, fell into the river, and drowned.

My mom took me to handle his funeral in the village, and then we were sent back to my grandparents’ house.

“Mom, Dad, Iris and I talked it over. We want to stay here.”

At that time, Aunt Brenda was six months pregnant and needed care.

My mom had worked as a nanny and done farm labor, and my uncle was working out of town.

Grandma could finally enjoy some comfort.

“Well, that’s just wonderful! Staying is the best thing you could do!”

Grandma smiled broadly and slapped her thigh.

She immediately ordered my mom, “Elara, hurry up and make dinner.”

“And Iris, quick, go to the fields and pick some vegetables for your cousin.”

Yes, my name was Iris. Or rather, that’s what my mom called me.

I was a girl.

The old widower had said there was no need to name me since I’d just get married off anyway.

Everyone else just called me “the burden.”

Only my mom, on one trip back from the market.

She carefully pulled out a plastic ring, wrapped in three layers, and placed it in my palm.

“I saw other kids like these toys. Everyone else has them, so you should too.”

“Little one, Mom’s going to give you a name.”

“How about Iris? What do you think?”

I was so young then, I just felt my mom was very happy.

I held the plastic ring, babbling out a response.

“…Mom, Mom.”

My mom froze for a second, then smiled even sweeter than the candy she’d secretly slipped me.