For him, I would remain just a distant aunt, a stranger who cared for him, but without carrying the most sacred title – that of mother.

But refusing the inheritance also meant refusing the child, whom I had already decided not to bring into the world because poverty had extinguished all hope. Then he would never be born.

I would save myself from the pain of living a lie, but I would destroy a life that had already begun to grow inside me.

I stood in the yard with that letter in my hand, and my heart was torn apart. What should I choose?