Dasha's birth—his survival—was the worst day in their lives. He had always known that. The fevour and joy that other parents took care of their children with was never seen in his parents. Their smiles were weak. They came late when he was supposed to be picked up for daycare. Everything revolving around him was half-assed.
They didn't hate him. They just didn't want him. But that wasn't why he forgot this memory. It wasn't due to his age or because his parents also wanted to forget it. It was a memory that naturally seeped into his brain. An event that kicked off everything. He was sitting by his lonesome in his new bed.
Five days passed.
