The Day I Was Born
The day I came into the world, a large butterfly-shaped birthmark appeared on my face. My parents thought it was a bad omen, so they handed me over to a widowed woman at the end of the village to raise.

1. The Abandoned Child

I was born on a stormy night, amid thunder and lightning. The midwife later said that when I first cried, a deep red mark appeared on my left cheek—about the size of a coin, spreading like the tail of a comet.

People whispered:
– “That child isn’t normal. Look at that red mark—it’s an ill omen!”

My father—a man deeply superstitious—turned pale upon hearing this. My mother, still weak from giving birth and not even having the chance to see me clearly, heard him shout:
– “We can’t raise it! Give the child away! That mark will bring disaster to the family!”

And so, only a few hours after birth, I was wrapped in an old cloth and handed to an impoverished widow named Tư, who lived at the edge of the village, childless and alone.

2. A Childhood with a Stranger

Grandma Tư lived in a tattered hut. By day, she worked in the fields; by night, she wove baskets to buy rice. Yet she loved me like her own child.

– “That birthmark of yours isn’t a curse. It’s heaven’s gift, a blessing—not an ill omen,” she always told me whenever I cried at my reflection.

But those years were filled with gossip:
– “Look, it’s the ‘comet child’! Stay away from her or you’ll have bad luck all year!”

At school, my classmates avoided me. Whenever they teased me, I would run home and bury my face in Grandma Tư’s lap, sobbing:
– “Why am I so ugly, Grandma? Why does everyone hate me?”

She would stroke my birthmark gently and say:
– “Beauty isn’t on the face, my child, but in the heart. Live kindly, and heaven will grant you justice one day.”

3. The Fateful Day

One afternoon, when I turned 17, a black luxury car stopped in front of our gate. A well-dressed couple stepped out—something about them seemed familiar.

Grandma Tư trembled as she called me out:
– “These are… your real parents, child.”

I froze. It felt like cold water pouring over me.
My father bowed his head and spoke softly:
– “We’re sorry. Back then, we were foolish. Now your mother is gravely ill, and her only wish is to see you once.”

I glanced at Grandma Tư—my foster mother, whose hair had turned silver because of me. She nodded gently:
– “Go, child. Everyone deserves to know where they came from.”

4. Meeting My Birth Mother

They brought me to their grand house—spacious, luxurious, but cold. Inside, a frail woman lay on a hospital bed, her face pale.

When she saw me, tears spilled from her eyes:
– “It’s you… my child? Oh God, forgive me! I was too weak…”

I sat beside her, holding her trembling hand—so warm, so fragile. Though reason told me to hate her, my heart softened.

She confessed:
– “The fortune-teller said a child with a ‘comet mark’ would bring ruin to its father and sickness to its mother. Your father was chasing wealth, and I… I didn’t have the strength to resist. But for 17 years, I dreamed of you every night, with that crimson mark on your cheek…”

I cried silently, unable to speak.

5. The Truth Behind It All

A week later, my birth mother passed away. At her funeral, relatives looked at me with pity—the abandoned child returning amidst sorrow.

After the rites, my father handed me an envelope:
– “This is what your mother left for you. Consider it her way of making amends.”

Inside was the deed to a large plot of land by the river, along with a note written before she died:

“If one day my child returns, use this land to build a home for abandoned children. I pray you will not harbor resentment.”

Holding that paper, tears streamed down my face. In that moment, I understood: a mother’s love, though buried under layers of prejudice, never truly dies.

6. Returning Home

I showed the document to Grandma Tư. Her hands trembled as she said:
– “Your mother is gone, but she still loved you deeply. Do it, my child. Build that home, so other abandoned children will have shelter—just like you once needed.”

So I sold part of the land and built the Comet Home, a haven for abandoned children. I taught them to read and to believe in themselves, just as Grandma Tư had taught me.

On opening day, many villagers came. They were astonished to see me—the once “ill-omened” child—standing on stage, speaking about kindness and forgiveness.

I looked down at the front row, where Grandma Tư sat, her clouded eyes shining with pride.

7. The Ending – Light After the Mark

Ten years later, the Comet Home shelters dozens of children. I still carry the birthmark on my cheek—never erased, never hidden—for it is the emblem of my life.

Someone once asked:
– “If you could choose, would you want to be born without that mark?”

I smiled:
– “No. Without it, I would never have known true love or true compassion.”

Then I gazed at the night sky, where a single bright star glimmered—like the watchful eyes of both my mothers, one by blood and one by heart.

The “comet birthmark”—it wasn’t a curse after all.
It was the sign of someone born to shine light into the darkness of others’ hearts.