I don’t remember if I died from pain or from blood loss. All I recall from that night is the wind sweeping across the barren land, howling past my exposed, bloodied face.

Perhaps people think of pleasant things before they die. I found myself lost in memories from before I was five. After I was born, my mother, suffering from postpartum depression, couldn’t bear to look at me and sent me to the countryside. There, my elderly grandmother lived alone. She was the kindest person in my world, giving me all the warmth I had ever known.

She would pick fresh raspberries from the trees, wash them, and place them...