Sandra Paul

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” I asked.
And that was the last thing I ever said.

lingering between this world and the nether, waiting for that miracle trauma surgeon to save me

I was my mother’s daughter. I came from her womb. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that I was my father’s natural child. I was his spitting image, from the eyes to the chin, the nose and the ears. I resembled him.
I was their daughter for sure, but the love that I was supposed to receive from them was nonexistent. It had never been there from the day I was born.
I wonder how they will feel about me now.