Raised by Shadows

Chapter 1

Some babies are born into love. I was born into silence.

From the moment I came into this world, I wasn’t wanted. My mother didn’t look at me with love. She didn’t smile or hold me close. She looked at me like I had ruined something. Like I was a problem she now had to carry.

When I was still a baby, my mom lived with my dad. But even when they were together, she didn’t care for me. She used to lock me inside a room—alone. I was just a tiny child. I couldn’t walk far, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even understand why I was always alone. The floor was hard and cold, and I would lie there crying until my throat hurt.

It wasn’t her who came to check on me—it was my grandparents, my dad’s parents. They would find me there, lying on the concrete floor, tears running down my face, my little hands curled into fists. They would pick me up gently, carry me into their rooms, and hold me close. For a little while, I felt safe. I felt seen.

But my mother? She didn’t care. She didn’t talk to me, didn’t play with me, didn’t sing to me. She didn’t act like I was her baby. I was just… there. Something she had to feed and change, like a task she hated doing.

Then, one day, my dad left the country. I was still too small to remember him clearly, but his leaving made things worse. My mom didn’t try to be there for me. Instead, she started living her own life—cheating on my dad, seeing other men, going out without me. One day, she just left me with my dad’s parents.

At first, I was confused. But after a while, I felt okay. Because with my grandparents, I was loved. They didn’t treat me like a job. They treated me like their little girl. They fed me, played with me, and rocked me to sleep. I felt warm in their arms. Safe. Happy.

But my mom? She didn’t come back. Not for days. Not for weeks. Not for months. Almost a whole year passed, and she didn’t visit me even once. No calls. No messages. Nothing.

Then, out of nowhere, she showed up—with the police.

She told the officers that my grandparents had kidnapped me. That they were keeping me against her will. That they wouldn’t let her see me. But that was a lie. She was the one who left. She chose not to visit. My grandparents didn’t steal me—they saved me. But because my dad wasn’t around, and because she was my "mother," the law forced them to give me back to her.

They didn’t want to. I could see it in their eyes. They held me for as long as they could, kissed my forehead, and gave me up with broken hearts. I didn’t understand everything back then, but I remember how tight they hugged me. Like they were saying goodbye for good.

My mom took me from the only home where I felt real love. And the moment she got me back, it was like nothing changed.

She didn’t hold me close. She didn’t talk to me or ask if I was okay. She didn’t look at me like a mother looks at her child. It felt like she had only come back for me to prove a point, not because she missed me. Not because she loved me.

And after that, things got worse. Cold meals. Cold stares. No bedtime stories. No gentle hugs. She was there, but never really there. I was just a kid, but I could feel everything. I knew I wasn’t wanted. I knew I didn’t matter to her.

Sometimes, I would cry, hoping she’d hold me. I'm hoping she’d change. But she never did. After a while, I stopped crying. Not because I wasn’t sad anymore, but because I knew no one was going to come.