Scrambling to Be the Father of His Ex-Wife's Kid novel Chapter 155

"I only want to protect you. Trust me, Grayson Louis is no saint."

I looked at Tyler and scoffed. "How do you expect me t o believe you? In my eyes, all of you are the same, you're demons from hell."

He sighed. "Whatever you say, then. But you have to go with me now, or they'll destroy you."

My mood could not get any worse. I looked at him and blurted out, "Can you just leave me alone? I’d rather be destroyed by them than follow you back and be destroyed by you once more. Tyler Schuman, it's been so many years. Why won't you let me go? Let's live our own lives. Wouldn’t that be great? Why do you have to appear once again and want to pull me back into the days filled with darkness?"

Tyler looked at me and finally spoke after a long pause, "That's because we share the same fate. We were both abandoned, so only we can ignite each other’s lives."

A sharp pain overcame my chest. It was as if someone had stabbed me, forcefully wiggled the knife several times, and there was blood everywhere. It was a gory sight to behold. 1

All these years, I had been trying my best not to think back on the past. Just when I thought I had forgotten everything, Tyler Schuman not only reappeared in my life but he was also forcing me to relive everything. He was tearing open the wounds that had started healing until they were exposed in the open again. 1

He was right, I was abandoned.

I was only six months old when I was abandoned in the village dumpster on a cold winter night. The one who abandoned me had no intention for me to live since I only had a thin blanket around me when they left me on the ground and disappeared.

Perhaps it was not my time to go yet, because among the piles of trash, a crippled woman who was picking up the trash witnessed everything.

When the person who abandoned me left, she hobbled over and picked me up. This kind person was the mother who brought me up.

At that time, my little face was red from the cold weather, and I was on the brink of death. It was my mother who carried me home and placed me by the fire for the entire night. She used the money she got from collecting trash to buy milk powder so she could feed me. It was my mother who brought me back from the depths of hell.

The next day, I was brought to the police station. Unfortunately, there were no orphanages in the village. When the village policemen wanted to send m e to the orphanage in the city, I cried loudly as I clung tightly to my mother.

It was this act that allowed my and my mother's fate t o intertwine for 20 years.