They didn't just blame her.
They banned her—from the one person she loved the most.
Her mother—still lying still, somewhere behind sterile hospital walls—
was off-limits.
The girl wasn't even allowed to see her.
So she found another way.
Wrapped in an old nurse's scarf,
eyes lowered, heart pounding—
she'd sneak into the ward,
just to sit beside her mother's bed,
just to whisper "Mom, I'm sorry…"
hoping—praying—that maybe her mother could still hear her.
She didn't touch her.
She didn't cry out loud.
She just sat there, as if her presence could stitch the past back together.
But peace never lasted long.
One day, her disguise slipped.
A cousin recognized her.
They dragged her out.
Called her names.
Spat cruel words like venom—
"This is you fault."
"Stay away from her. You'll only bring more bad luck."
And for the first time, she didn't fight back.
Because deep down…
somewhere between all the rejections,
the missed calls,
the locked doors,
the stares,
the blame—
She had started to believe it too.
That she was a curse.
Not human. Not daughter.
Just a walking misfortune.
And so… she stopped trying.
Stopped visiting.
Stopped dreaming.
Stopped believing she could be anything more than the villain in her own story.