Four times I've died, the fifth was intentional

Life came with many a number of terrible decisions and most assuredly, unnecessary and mistaken ideals. My birth was one of them, most unfortunately. Mother was brought up in an educated, but protected environment as she drank her mother’s own milk and ate under her father’s roof with the belief true love prevailed.

Anyway, Mary was her name and it stood for ‘love’ and ‘beloved’. But I grew up knowing the sides of ‘sea of bitterness’ and ‘rebelliousness’ that carved themselves on one side of the same coin to her name. This would first be a short story of Mary, before she had me; before and after she met my father, one I’ll never love.

It will be the first chapter to my story. The cherished origin of my first life in five.