My Family Regret When They Lose Me Chapter 01
On Thanksgiving, my parents forgot about my nut allergy again.
The pumpkin pie on the table was covered in chopped pecans, made especially for Sofia. It was her favorite.
While I stood on the back patio, letting the cold wind bite at my face, my five-year-old daughter, Chloe, sent me a text.
“Mom, don’t be sad. I’m going to buy you your favorite molten chocolate cake!”
Tears pricked my eyes.
But that same night, Chloe disappeared.
I searched for her in the rain for three days. In the end, the police found her on the other side of the neighborhood.
I ran to hug her, but she screamed and turned away, throwing herself into my sister Sofia’s arms. She wrapped her tiny arms around Sofia’s neck and called her “Mom.”
The doctor said she might have been so frightened that her memory had become confused. If we wanted her to recover, we couldn’t keep upsetting her.
My parents suggested Sofia take my place for the time being, staying by Chloe’s side to help her through this.
My husband, Marco, agreed.
“Beatrice, I think they’re right. The most important thing is Chloe. Let Sofia stay with her for now. Once she remembers, she’ll be fine.”
After that, the doctor said it would be best for Chloe to be around familiar people, so for the past few weeks, we’d all been living at my parents’ house.
I had no choice but to pretend to accept it.
Until one day, I got home earlier than usual. I had just reached the door when I heard voices from the living room.
Chloe’s voice was serious.
“Daddy, does that woman really believe it?”
“If I keep pretending, can Aunt Sofia be my mommy forever?”
My body went rigid.
Marco gave a soft laugh.
“That’s right. Chloe, you’re so smart.”
Sofia pulled her closer.
“Then why do you want me to be your mommy so badly?”
Chloe started counting on her fingers.
“Because Daddy likes you. And Grandpa and Grandma like you better, too.”
“So I want to be like them.”
“I’m so glad you and Daddy thought of this. Otherwise, I’d still have to call that woman ‘Mom.’”
Marco patted her on the head.
“Chloe, no matter what, she is your mother. Don’t call her that. It’s rude.”
My mother came out of the kitchen carrying a fruit salad and chimed in.
“She’s still little. We can teach her. Sofia used to say all the time that she wished Chloe were her child.”
“Isn’t this better? The way things are now?”
The room filled with laughter.
I felt nothing but a deep, spreading cold.
Just then, my father came out of the study. Stupidly, I hoped he might defend me.
Instead, he said this:
“Chloe, be more careful around her from now on. Don’t let anything slip.”
“If she finds out the adults all coached you to fake amnesia, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Chloe pouted.
“You’re wrong, Grandpa. She’s not my mommy. Aunt Sofia is going to be my mommy from now on.”
My nails dug into my palms. After a long moment, I finally pushed the door open.
The room fell silent.
Everyone’s expression shifted, none of them natural.
Marco was the first to walk over, his voice as gentle as ever.
“When did you get back? Why are you home so early?”
“It’s still raining, isn’t it? You should’ve called. I would’ve picked you up.”
I looked at him and managed a small smile.
“I just got here.”
They all visibly relaxed.
My mother glanced at me.
“Next time, knock before you come in. You’re old enough to know better. Have you no manners?”
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
Wasn’t this my home, too?
Did I really have to knock before entering my own parents’ house?
But I said nothing.
My mother turned and went back into the kitchen. My father returned to the study.
Chloe glared at me and dragged Sofia off to play with Legos.
Marco looked at the rainwater on my clothes.
“Beatrice, go take a hot shower. Change out of those wet things before you get sick.”
“I’m going to stay with Sofia and Chloe. Chloe’s been in a great mood lately, and Sofia can’t handle her on her own.”
I stopped him.
I wanted to give myself one last chance. I wanted to give this family one last chance, too.
“I got in touch with a very experienced childhood trauma specialist today. She’s handled a lot of cases like Chloe’s.”
“Can we take Chloe to see her? If we intervene early, maybe she’ll get better faster.”
I looked at Marco, holding on to one last sliver of hope.
…
This was the twelfth year since I’d met Marco, the seventh since we’d married.
When I first met him, my life was a wasteland.
My parents only had eyes for Sofia.
They picked her up from school, threw her lavish birthday parties, and praised her to everyone they met—smart, sweet, lovable.
I was always the one left standing off to the side.
Marco was the one who pulled me out of the shadows.
Back then, he remembered my favorite foods and could always tell when I was unhappy.
Often, before I even had to say a word, he was there.
He once said something I still remember to this day.
“Beatrice, with me, you’ll always come first. I’ll show you what it feels like to be someone’s first choice.”
That was the first time I realized someone might actually choose me.
We survived the hardest years of starting a business together, living in an unheated basement in Brooklyn.
Chloe was the child we’d waited three years for.
She used to be my shadow.
When I came home late from work, she would run to the door, hug my legs, and shove a handmade card into my hands. “Mommy worked so hard,” she’d say. “I’ll rub your shoulders.”
So no matter what, I couldn’t accept this.
The people I trusted most had sided with Sofia, just like my parents always did.
If Marco had been willing to take even one step toward me, I could have pretended I’d never heard that conversation.
But after a moment of silence, he shut me down.
“Beatrice, I know these past few days have been hard on you. But right now, the safest thing is to let Sofia stay with Chloe.”
“I know you’ve never liked her, but she’s never done anything to you.”
“Can you stop making trouble? You’re in your thirties. Why do you always have to make it about her?”
I stared at him, unable to believe the words he was saying.
The expression on his face was the same one my parents wore whenever they talked about Sofia.
He didn’t even give me a chance to speak.
“Have you thought about what happens if this specialist can’t help, either?”
“Chloe has finally calmed down. If you insist on taking her to some stranger and it scares her all over again, what then?”
“How can you be this selfish? Are you even her mother?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Not a happy laugh. An absurd one.
“Marco, if Chloe never remembers, are you going to keep playing house with Sofia for the rest of your life?”
He froze.
Then, almost instinctively, he lifted a hand as if to wipe away my tears.
I stepped back.
His hand hung in the air. His voice dropped.
“Beatrice, don’t overthink this. Sofia is your sister. I only see her as a sister.”
At some point, Sofia had walked over, her eyes red.
“Beatrice, don’t misunderstand. I only want what’s best for Chloe. I never meant to take your place. If this bothers you, I’ll leave right now.”
She hadn’t even finished when my mother charged out of the kitchen.
“Beatrice, what is it you want?”
“Sofia has been helping you take care of your child for days. And instead of being grateful, you’re here making a scene.”
“Why are you always targeting her? Weren’t you sulking on Thanksgiving over a piece of pie? If you hadn’t been, would Chloe have worried about you and snuck out?”
“Now Sofia is taking good care of her, and you’re still making trouble. How did I give birth to someone like you? Get out. You’re not welcome here.”
My father glanced over from the study doorway, sighed, and closed the door.
If I hadn’t heard that conversation, maybe I would have apologized. Maybe I would have cried and begged them not to throw me out.
But now, looking at them, they all seemed like strangers.
Suddenly, Chloe came running from the living room with a Lego brick in her hand and hurled it at my forehead.
“Bad woman! Don’t you bully my mommy! Get out of Grandma’s house! If you don’t, I’ll beat you up!”
The sharp edge cut my skin.
Blood trickled down my brow.
Marco instinctively took a step forward, but Sofia had already rushed over and grabbed me.
“Beatrice, you’re bleeding. Let me get a bandage.”
I shoved her away.
“Don’t touch me.”
I hadn’t used much force, but she staggered backward.
Marco immediately turned to catch her, and my mother fussed over whether she was hurt.
No one looked at me.
I was an outsider, an extra in my own family’s drama.
A humorless smile touched my lips. I turned and walked away.