Pure Hatred Between Mother and Son

"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.