I was three. I didn't understand anything. The moment I heard those words, I thought we were so poor we couldn't afford to eat. I sobbed and apologized to my mother, promising I would never ask for another toy again.
But even back then, my mother's dresses cost over a thousand dollars each. The cigarettes my father smoked every day were top-shelf brands.
After my little brother was born, new toys showed up every single month.
Our family was never going to starve because of a toy car that cost a few bucks.
They simply couldn't bring themselves to spend money on me. Couldn't bring themselves to waste love on me, either.
Sure enough, the very next morning, my mother knocked on my door.
She put on a pained expression. "Desi, Mommy has your little brother in her tummy now, so I can't really take care of you. Could you go stay at Grandma's for a few days?"
I stared at her, cold and unblinking. "A few days. Really?"
My bluntness caught her off guard. She faltered for a moment, but recovered.
"Of course. Once Mommy's feeling better, I'll come bring you home."
I didn't look at her again. I turned around, grabbed my little backpack, and stuffed in the handful of clothes I owned and my one toy car.