Chapter 2

I was a girl from the countryside.

The more remote the place, the more stupid the people were. For a girl in a distant rural area, there was never any way out.

Before me, my parents and my grandmother had already strangled, thrown, or starved three sisters to death.

When I was born, my grandmother wanted to drown me to death, but Byron snatched me away.

He said, "It's just a girl. It won't make a difference to raise an extra girl."

My father simply handed me over to him and let him take me away.

My uncle was only eighteen years old then. He was just an adult and lived a tight life.

But he looked at me and then at my parents, who were determined to drown me. Then he made up his mind. "I'll take her with me. She'll be my daughter from now on, and you'd better not think of taking her back."

From that day on, I hardly ever returned to my parents' home. My entire childhood memory only had my uncle, who looked incredibly handsome and seemed never to be serious.

He was rarely home, but he never let me go hungry.

When I was seven years old, he came home with lipstick marks on his face. He bought me a small cake. It had thick plant-based cream, a simple and homemade red plastic casing with simple and homemade cream and jam. My name was written on it.

He had named me Kendra.

He had bartered with the village's most educated person to give me a unique name, so I didn't end up with a name like other girls, who were not favored by their parents.

"Do you like it?" he asked, wiping away the lipstick marks from his face.

I nodded, carefully hid the cake, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

But in the end, I never got to eat that cake.

Later, my mother finally gave birth to a son.

After my younger brother saw that cake, he pushed me into the cowshed instantly and snatched the cake away. My head was bumped by a brick near the cowshed, and I bled heavily.

By the time Byron found me, I was barely breathing.

He carried me on his bicycle to the town clinic and spent a lot of money to save my life.

When my head was wrapped in bandages, he held me in his arms and went to confront my parents.

Seeing my brother and his family eating chicken soup, he kicked over the table.

My father raised a sickle and intended to kill Byron, but the latter chopped down the door with a hatchet with one hand. My father was scared into trembling, and the sickle fell from his hand.

Byron lifted my brother with one hand, pressed him against the door, and shouted, "Why did you take something that wasn't yours?"

My brother cried loudly, and my mother felt sorry for him as soon as she saw the scene. She rushed forward to push Byron away and gave me a look of disgust. "Why are you being harsh to my precious son for that useless girl? My son will go to college and make lots of money in the future. He is unlike the useless girl who will just get married off early. What's wrong with my son eating her cake? If my son wants something, that useless girl must give it up. If not, she deserves to be killed!"

That event resulted in the fact that I cut ties with my parents and was officially raised by Byron.

From then on, Byron cut all ties with the family after he paid them five hundred dollars. He told them never to bother me again.

But family ties were unbreakable.

When I was still young and of no use, they wouldn't spare me a glance.

But once I grew up, I would be the ideal target for exploitation in their eyes, perfect for them to press for a lifetime.