I was born in a hospital toilet. My biological mother didn't want me. She birthed me, flushed the toilet, and walked away without looking back. She thought I would be washed into the sewer and become a lump of rotting flesh. But I was lucky. My head got stuck in the opening. A nurse found me and pulled me out of the filth. The doctor said that although I survived, there might be sequelae in my brain, and the risk of cerebral palsy could not be ruled out. At that time, surveillance wasn't perfect. After a week unclaimed, the hospital prepared to send me to an orphanage. But the moment the nurse handed me over, I, who had been quiet until then, cried my heart out. The nurse couldn't bear it. She snatched me back. From then on, she became my mother. 1 Everyone said Sarah was a fool for adopting a child with brain damage, predicting endless hardship for her. But Mom would say, "What do you know? Holly is the best daughter." She didn't have maternity leave, so she had to bring me to work. To take care of me, she voluntarily applied for a transfer from the operating room to the general ward. Her salary was halved, and she had to work night shifts. The only benefit was that the neonatal ward had a supply of free formula. The nurses took turns getting some for me, and the head nurse turned a blind eye. But fate didn't favor us. At six months, when normal babies can sit up, I couldn't even roll over. Mom asked the pediatric specialist cautiously, "Holly is fine, right?" The specialist didn't even look up as he ordered a brain CT scan. "Let's do the scan first." The radiologist frowned deeply upon seeing Mom. "Didn't you tell him you work here? Why do a CT scan on such a small baby?" Mom bit her lip. She knew radiation could affect development, but the doctor had her cornered with one sentence. "If there is an abnormality in the brain, a day's delay in diagnosis could lead to lifelong regret." After the CT scan, the specialist studied it for a long time, adjusting his glasses. "The imaging results show no brain abnormalities." Before Mom could sigh in relief, he continued, "But this is typical developmental delay." "Without early intervention, it will affect her for life." 2 Mom's salary was barely $3,000 a month, and my rehabilitation fees alone were over $2,500. Even with rehab, the chance of me being like a normal child existed only in theory. Mom came out of the rehab center, her eyes red. Just then, I tilted my head in her arms and called out, "Ma... Mama..." Her eyes instantly lit up like morning stars. "I knew it!" "My Holly is the smartest!" She pressed her forehead against mine, secretly vowing, "I will cure you!" From that day on, Mom went to the rehab department after work to do odd jobs. She wanted two things: to reduce fees through labor and to learn the techniques secretly. The therapists didn't understand why, but seeing she was a hospital employee, they turned a blind eye. But the Director of Rehabilitation, Dr. Zhao, was a principled woman. After kicking Mom out for the third time, Dr. Zhao warned her, "The hospital is for treating patients, not for pulling strings. If you come again, I'll talk to your supervisor." Mom slowly lowered her head, her hands clenched tight. The next day, she paid off all the arrears and didn't enter the rehab room without permission again. During that time, she only ate two meals a day. "You spend all your money on her, what do you eat and use?" The nurses couldn't stand it and shared their food with Mom. The head nurse quietly went to Dr. Zhao but was scolded back. Someone advised Mom, "Give up. She's not your own flesh and blood. What if the rehab doesn't work and she's disabled? Are you going to support her for life?" Mom smiled. "Then I'll support her for life." The person didn't persuade her anymore, only silently packing her child's outgrown clothes for Mom. Neither of them noticed Dr. Zhao standing around the corner, listening to the entire conversation. 3 The next day, after rehab, Mom was about to leave with me. Dr. Zhao, passing by the door, suddenly stopped her. "We are short of a temporary logistics staff here. Not much work, paid, handle it after work. If you are willing..." "I am willing!" On the way back, Mom smiled. "Our Holly is a little lucky star. Even heaven is protecting you." "My little baby will definitely get better." From that day on, Mom went to the rehab room whenever she was free. Dr. Zhao, seeing this, deliberately lingered around her, teaching her hand by hand. Thanks to the rehab subsidy, our lives became much better. Mom finally didn't have to rely on colleagues' handouts to get enough to eat. In the rehab room, children cried inside, and parents cried outside. Only my mom was different; she could accompany me inside. Mom coaxed me, "Holly, let's play a game here." But the game wasn't fun at all. It was painful and tiring, often leaving me sweating all over. I was young and didn't know how to refuse. I just started trembling every time I saw the door of the rehab department. Whenever this happened, Mom's eyes were bright, saying Holly wasn't afraid, but her body trembled even more than mine. Finally, one day, Dr. Zhao told her, "You know everything for this stage. You can do it at home from now on." Mom and I both breathed a sigh of relief. The corners of Dr. Zhao's mouth turned up slightly. "I will regularly check the inpatient building." Mom and I froze simultaneously. Dr. Zhao tucked her hair behind her ear, turned, and left, hiding her merit and fame. 4 Leaving the rehab environment, I wasn't so resistant to "games." At one year old, I stood up. Mom happily hugged and kissed me. At two years old, I learned my name—"Holly." Mom picked me up and spun me around. "Everything will get better, it will get better." But I saw Dr. Zhao behind her, looking at us with hidden worry. Three years old, kindergarten. Before going, Mom prepared small gifts for every teacher and greeted them. But I was advised to quit before I even finished a week. "She doesn't understand instructions at all. Not only is her motor development lagging, but she also likes to hit people!" "How do you teach her at home? I think there's something wrong with her brain!" The teacher's sharp finger poked at my head. I almost subconsciously slapped it away. Slap! A red mark appeared on the teacher's hand. She sneered, "Look! Look at this!" "Transfer her quickly, we can't handle this." Mom pulled me into her arms. I could clearly feel the rise and fall of her chest. "Apologize." The teacher looked contemptuous. "In your dreams..." Mom looked up, her expression icy. "I recorded it." "If you don't apologize, I'll play what you just said at the gate of your kindergarten." "Let everyone evaluate your professional ethics." The teacher's face stiffened, but she still held her neck stiffly and didn't speak. Mom continued, "I'll post it on Facebook, send it to the class group chat, and let everyone admire it." The teacher's expression changed drastically, and she finally lowered her head. "So... sorry." Mom took my hand, turned, and left. Back home, Mom asked me why I hit other kids. I said, "Because they all called me a little idiot." Mom listened, was silent for a while, and told me firmly: "You are not wrong. They are wrong." From that day on, I became an out-of-school child.
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