I died at 21, unloved and forgotten.
All my life, I worked hard—just for a glimpse of affection from my parents, a word of praise from my older brother. But to them, I was invisible. Their love belonged to my younger sister, Silvia—the golden child, the one who got everything I could only dream of.
I tried to earn my place in the family. I stayed quiet, I obeyed, I even sacrificed. But in the end, all they saw me as a tool—something to trade. On the day they tried to sell me to an old man to secure Silvia’s future, I ran. I ran straight into the path of a truck.
And that’s how my life ended.
Or so I thought.
Because when I opened my eyes, I was 12 again—back in the moment where everything began.
This time, I won’t beg for love.
This time, I’ll choose my own family.
Not by blood, but by bond.
This time... I’ll find a place called us.
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