Harwal, book 3

Chapter 7

My father passed away when I was young. He left me, my mom, and eight of my sisters to mourn for him.

My father was our breadwinner. We barely managed to survive with his help, but when he died, we were left with nothing. We already lived in the slums, crammed into a two-bedroom house with nine kids and my mom.

My mom knew that it wouldn't work with so many of us, so she started to sell her body for money as she couldn't get any other work. It was only a week after our fathers funeral. It affected all of us. Mom tried to be happy for us, but we all knew she was suffering.

My older siblings were working and doing their best to help her with money. My oldest sister was only fifteen at the time, so the income they could provide was nonexistent. I was the second youngest at six years old and in charge of taking care of my baby sister, who was only a year old. The others were out to try and beg for money.

Even as strange as it sounds, that was a better time.

Everything turned around when mom met a man. A man she should've never crossed ways with. He pretended to be kind to us, but when mom wasn't looking, he hurt us. We knew we needed him, so we never said anything.

He was a rich and ambitious man. But he worked for the cartel. We only found out later, after mom gave birth to twin boys. The first boys in our family. The man wanted a son, but he got two. He was happy and stopped the pretense immediately after they were born.

My sisters and I were useless, a waste of money. He told us to work to support ourselves at first, but it took a horrible turn.

He wanted money, and we were useless. I was too young to understand at first, but after my eldest sister died, I realised the horrible truth; he was involved with child trafficking.

All of my sisters, one by one, were taken for his business. Some came back, but the others… didn't. My sisters tried to keep the younger ones safe, taking our places whenever possible. Our youngest and I were lucky enough to escape it. Mom tried to help us, but she was getting the worst of it.

My second oldest sister was the best 'prize mule' he had, and she was also the one who kept me safe the most. She was the one who planned and executed an escape as she heard what our 'father' was planning to do with me and my youngest sister.

My youngest sister was only five when she died. My mother killed her before my stepfather got his hands on her. I don't blame her for that decision, and neither did my sister.

That was the last straw. My sister took me and we escaped. We left everyone behind. She said we couldn't risk trying to save anyone else.

We escaped and hid our identities. My stepfather was always looking for us. I was eleven, and my sister was eighteen at the time. We lived with her working any and all jobs she could get for only a moment at a time. We kept moving around, again and again, never finding a place to call home.

But as our horrible luck would have it, she found out she had cancer when she turned twenty. We didn't have money for her treatment, and it was dangerous to go to any health care anyway as that left a mark of our existence.

I wanted to do everything in mpower to get money for my sister's treatment. So I started to work as a stripper when I was thirteen. I was beautiful, looked mature, and they didn't bother ever checking for ID anyway.

My sister always told me she went to get treatment, but she lied. She saved the money I gave her and passed away when she was twenty-two.

She never even left me a note of goodbye. She left the money and one measly note with onky an address.