I Raised My Boss's Child for Fifteen Years. The Day His Real Mom Returned, I Couldn't Leave

The author's creative insights: The woman trapped by "need" While writing this story, a sentence came up repeatedly in my mind: She is not locked up, she is locked up by "needs". There are too many shadows in the character of Gugu that we are familiar with but turn a blind eye to. Those "aunties" who have spent their whole lives in the corners of the city, raising other people's children, but missed the last sight of their own relatives. They are not the tied prisoners in the victim narrative, they walked in willingly - because the three words "being needed" are more fatal to a woman who has been sacrificing herself all her life than freedom. I choose to tell this story from the perspective of "me" - a young niece. There are two reasons. First, I needed an "intruder" eye. A young man who has not been domesticated by fifteen years of daily life and still has a simple sense of justice. Her anger is the reader's anger, and her confusion is the reader's confusion. Second, I cannot write my aunt's autobiography. A person who has lost himself cannot tell his tragedy. All she would say is "I'm fine." The truly cruel things must be seen and shouted out for her by others. The theme of this story, at a small scale, is "Why a nanny can't return home in fifteen years", and at a larger scale is "How does a person get rid of himself with kindness". My aunt is neither stupid nor weak. Her father's last words at the age of thirteen taught her to "give good things to others". Breaking off the engagement made her confirm that "my needs are not important". Fifteen years of hard work allowed her to place all the value of her existence on a child who would never call her "mom". Every step is her own choice, and every step can be understood. This is the most breathless thing - without bad guys, tragedies still happen. I hope that after reading this book, readers will take another look at those people who shine every light in the city but cannot return home. It's not sympathy, it's seeing. "You are my aunt, not anyone's aunt." I say this for everyone who has been called "aunt" for too long.