The Unsent Appeal Chapter 02
Allison looped her arm through Mom’s.
“I don’t like that wardrobe.”
“It’s from the old house. It doesn’t match this place at all.”
“Can we go order a new one?”
Mom’s face lit up, her smile deepening the lines around her eyes.
“Of course. We can go right now.”
“We can even have one custom-made.”
Allison turned to me with a gentle smile.
“Chlo, come with us. You can help me pick a color.”
Before I could answer, Tyler rolled his eyes.
“What would she even pick?”
“Her whole closet is black, white, and gray. What kind of help would she be?”
He deliberately raised his voice.
“Besides, she never joins in on family stuff anyway.”
“Stop pretending she wants to be here.”
My chest tightened.
The anger came in a hot flash, then settled into a familiar, bone-deep exhaustion.
Growing up, I’d almost never had the chance to pick my own clothes.
I wore Mom’s and Allison’s hand-me-downs, and sometimes sweatshirts Dad bought in the wrong size.
If I ever voiced an opinion, my parents would criticize me for caring too much about appearances and not being considerate of the cost of raising three children.
They told me to learn from Allison, who “never made things hard for her parents.”
But her closet was several times the size of mine.
After a while, I no longer knew what I liked.
For work, I needed clothes for meeting clients, so I stuck to professional and casual pieces in a neutral palette.
I kept stepping back, over and over, but it never earned me my family’s affection.
It only became more ammunition for their ridicule.
Allison gave me an apologetic look, but she didn’t say a word.
Then she left with our parents.
I was alone in the new house.
I slowly walked through this house that had never welcomed me.
My parents’ primary bedroom was the largest, with a terrace overlooking the backyard.
Tyler’s bedroom had south-facing windows, an expensive custom-built computer, and three monitors already set up.
Everything in Allison’s room, from the walls to the bedding, was pink.
White gauze netting hung over the thick mattress like a princess suite.
The finished attic, however, was just a storage room, stacked with old picture frames, holiday decorations, and boxes.
My nose stung.
They would rather use a perfectly good room for storage than leave a bed for me.
My phone rang. It was a video call from Mom.
Behind her was the sign for a newly opened dessert shop.
She aimed the camera at two miniature cakes.
“Blueberry or strawberry? Which one do you want?”
I was about to answer when she said, “Never mind, I’ll bring both back. You can take your time deciding.”
After the call ended, I laughed through my tears.
Mom was still thinking of me.
Even if it was only two tiny cakes, she had still asked for my opinion.
I didn’t need everything Allison had. It would have been enough if my family just kept me in mind.
I even started to feel guilty about accepting the Dublin position.
Forty minutes later, they came back.
Every one of them was carrying shopping bags from luxury brands.
My eyes went straight to the cake box in Mom’s hand.
Allison stood in front of the entryway mirror, turning this way and that in her new coat.
She waved to Tyler.
“Get out the new desserts from that shop.”
“We got so lucky today. They had opening-day discounts, and they even gave us two mini cakes for free.”
The flicker of hope in my chest died.
So that was it. They were just freebies tossed in at checkout, not something Mom had picked out for me.
The cakes were an afterthought.
So was I.
Mom held the paper box out to me. I didn’t take it.
I walked into the downstairs bathroom and shut the door.
I cried again. This time, all that was left was disappointment.
Tyler’s voice came from outside the door.
“She always has to ruin the mood.”
“So now giving her cake is wrong, too?”
“Who is she making that face at?”
Then he knocked.
“Stop hogging the bathroom.”
“It was just renovated. Are you trying to make the whole floor smell?”
My parents were complaining outside, too.
Mom said, “We raised them both, so why is she so difficult?”
“She’s nothing like Allie.”
“And people have the nerve to accuse us of favoritism?”
Dad replied, “If we only had Allie and Tyler, life would be a lot easier.”
“A son and a daughter would have been perfect.”
I leaned against the wall and covered my mouth with my hand so they wouldn’t hear me sobbing.
*You’ve always acted like you only have two children, haven’t you?*
*I was never really a part of your lives.*
*And I never will be.*
I wasn’t going to stay here and keep getting in your way.