~CURSE OF BEING BORN~
*(Raffy's POV)*
The call connected. A woman's trembling voice answered.
"B-boss… please… don't hurt me. Don't hurt my child…"
"Then talk," I growled. My tone was sharp, but inside, my chest was pounding. "Tell me about Wateen. I want *everything*. Every truth she's hiding. If you leave even a single thing out… I'll know."
There was a pause. Then her sobs began.
"Wateen… she wasn't wanted, Raffy. Her parents abandoned her. They sent her away to her aunt's house… like she was baggage too heavy to carry. I was a maid there. I saw everything with my own eyes."
My jaw tightened.
"They always compared her to her younger sister. Her sister was called the *angel*, the *blessing*, the *beautiful one*. And Wateen? She was treated like a shadow. Her parents celebrated her sister's smiles, her sister's grades, her sister's future… but Wateen? They didn't even care if she ate that night. They only gave her pain."
The woman's voice shook harder.
"And in that house she was not safe at all. Her uncle used to look at her with very dirty eyes. Her uncle used to find excuses to use her in wrong ways but she managed to escape every time. Uncle used to lock her in dark, lonely rooms and then very loud screaming sounds came, and then Wateen came out of the room very frightened, she was trembling. Her uncle was right behind her, naked."
My knuckles turned white around the phone.
Raffy's hands clenched so tight that his knuckles turned ghostly white, and his jaw tightened until it ached. His eyes, usually calm and sharp, burned with a storm of rage, guilt, and helplessness. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, each inhale tasting like fire, each exhale a curse against the world. Shame seared through him, hot and suffocating, as he remembered everything—the trembling girl, the darkness, the suffocation.
Woman continued:
"One day, she had enough. She left. No one knew where she went, but… no one searched. No one prayed for her return. Do you understand, boss? They celebrated her *disappearance.* Her parents were relieved. They prayed she'd die somewhere far away, so their lives wouldn't be disturbed by her existence anymore."
Her words struck me like knives.
"And while they prayed for her death, they threw a *celebration* for her younger sister. They called her the pride of the family, the pretty one, the reason to live. Wateen was erased. Forgotten. Unwanted."
Silence stretched on the line, broken only by her muffled sobs.
My heart felt like it was splitting open. I had seen Wateen smile, laugh, fight, even act stubborn. But beneath all that—this was the life she carried. Abandoned, unwanted, unsafe, unloved.
My voice dropped, low and dangerous. "And yet… she survived."
I shut my eyes, rage crawling under my skin. *How could they? How could anyone?*
I cut the call. The maid's broken voice still rang in my ears—
*Unwanted. Abandoned. Wrong gazes. Prayers for her to disappear.*
But words weren't enough. I couldn't just listen. I had to *see*.
I dialed another number, the one man I trusted with truths hidden in shadows.
"Pull her records," I ordered flatly. My throat was tight, but my voice didn't shake. "Everywhere she's been. Every job, every place, every camera that caught her. I want it. Now."
There was silence on the other end before he spoke.
"That's years of digging, boss. She's been covering her tracks for a long time."
"I don't care." I snapped. "Start with school, rentals, street footage. I'll double your pay if I see results within the hour."
He didn't argue again. "Consider it done."
---
By evening, a black flash drive landed in my palm. I didn't waste a second. Plugged it in, opened the files.
The first video froze me.
**Footage: The Night She Left**
A dim street, a small figure running with a bag that looked twice her size. She kept glancing behind her, terrified, as if monsters chased her—but I knew it wasn't monsters. It was her own blood.
She stopped beneath a flickering streetlight, hugged her knees to her chest, and cried silently. My fist clenched. She couldn't have been more than eleven. Eleven, and already broken.
---
**School Records**
Her name disappearing mid-year. No transfers, no explanations. Just gone. A student erased from existence. Nobody asked. Nobody cared.
---
**Footage: The First Job**
A diner camera. She was maybe thirteen. Too small, too thin. Wiping tables, dragging chairs back into place. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired. Customers passed her like she wasn't human. The manager walked by, throwing a rag at her, not even a glance.
And yet—she kept cleaning. Quiet, invisible, surviving.
I swallowed hard. My chest burned.
---
**Rental Records**
Tiny, shabby apartments. Stays of weeks, sometimes months. Always moving. Always hiding. Never belonging.
---
**Footage: Alone in the Rain**
It hit harder than all the others.
A street camera. She was walking, drenched, groceries in both arms. Her shoes splashed in muddy water. She slipped, falling to her knees. The bag ripped open, food spilling everywhere. For a moment she sat there, shoulders shaking—then she picked it all back up with trembling hands and kept walking.
No umbrella. No hand to help her up. No one.
I pressed the heel of my palm against my eyes, but the burning only worsened.
---
The last file. I clicked it.
**Parental Records**
Photos of parties. Her parents, her sister—smiling, raising glasses. Toasts. Guests clapping. As if Wateen had never existed.
And then a video clip.
Her mother's voice:
"We're lucky she's gone. God finally did us a favor."
The room erupted in laughter. They celebrated her disappearance. Celebrated their "perfect daughter," while wishing the other one dead.
---
I slammed the laptop shut so hard the screen rattled. My hands shook uncontrollably, but not from rage alone. From guilt.
I thought of the times I judged her, pushed her, demanded her trust. How blind I had been. How heavy her silence really was.
I dropped my face into my hands and exhaled sharply, whispering into the darkness of my room:
"My Wateen, who gets scared even of a little mouse… then what must have been her condition at that time? I wish I had been there with her. And I regret that until yesterday I kept telling her, 'You get scared so easily.'"
"Wateen… you raised yourself. You survived storms no one should. But never again. Not as long as I'm breathing. You'll never fight alone again."
I paced the room, my fists clenching till my knuckles cracked. Every image of her pain replayed in my head like flames fanning higher.
They abandoned her. Mocked her. Treated her like dirt under their shoes.
And I—Raffy, the man who swore I'd protect her—had been blind.
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Parents? Family?" I spat the words. "They don't deserve to breathe the same air as her."
My jaw tightened as another thought hit me, sharper, darker.
*If her parents built her hell, then maybe… their precious daughter should taste it too.*
I could already see it—their favorite child, their shining pride, crushed piece by piece until they begged for mercy. Until they understood what it felt like to watch someone you love burn.
I slammed my fist into the wall, voice low, trembling with rage.
"Through your sister, Wateen… I'll make them pay. Every. Single. One."
The promise seared in my chest, unforgiving. This wasn't just protection anymore. This was war.