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“You can’t have a second chance at being a mother with my daughter.”

“She is —”

“Don’t you dare say it. You were not a mother to me.”

“Please, I carried you for nine months and went through labour.”

“You still think being a parent is about giving birth? That’s why you failed at being one. A mother has to be present, were you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, look for an excuse. That’s what you are good at.”

“I am sorry.”


“We share an eternal bond. You are my blood.”

“Blood? What is blood that binds us together? It’s nothing but red water.”

“I want to make it up—”

“No! You can’t have a second chance at being a mother. You’ve failed already. You were never here.”

“But I’m here now.”

“So you can bolt after she has gotten attached to you like you always do? So you can succeed in wrecking her because you failed at wrecking me? So you finish what you’ve started with me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“Still, I am sorry. I regret everything, but we can’t change the past.”

“Yeah, we can’t. We can prevent another disaster. You are cancerous. Just go.”

“My dear daughter —”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t.”

“My child, I am not saying I was perfect, all I need is a second chance. Let me be her grandmother.”

“And I said no. If you want to be a grandmother go find an adoption agency. My daughter do not need you and neither do I.”