The Daughter They Threw Away

When I was eight, my parents decided to have another baby. They said they wanted one of each—a daughter and a son. Overnight, I went from their precious little girl to Ethan’s big sister. From then on, their eyes stayed fixed on my brother. They never looked away again. Everyone said ninth grade was the most important year. But every day after school, the first thing I had to do was tie on an apron and head into the kitchen to cook for my brother. My parents were both busy with work. Overtime was a regular thing. Little by little, taking care of Ethan became my responsibility. By the time I finally got dinner ready, Ethan was too busy watching TV to come eat. I finished my meal in silence, then went into my bedroom. I couldn’t do what Mom did—crouch in front of him with a bowl and spoon-feed him every bite. I needed to finish my homework quickly so I would have time for extra practice problems. It was already nine when I heard the front door open. “Ethan, was the dinner Natalie made good?” Mom’s voice was gentle as she stroked his head. But then my brother started crying. “Mommy, I’m hungry…” He sniffled softly, wiping away his tears. “Natalie wouldn’t let me eat.” My heart lurched. I didn’t know why Ethan was lying about me. But I knew what would happen next. A furious shout, followed by my bedroom door being kicked open, revealing Mom’s rage-filled face. Sure enough, after a moment of silence, a shrill voice rang out. “Natalie! What kind of sister are you?” I was still working on a math problem when Mom stormed into my room. Just before I reached the answer, she snatched my workbook away and tore it in half. “Ethan is your own brother!” A vein bulged on her forehead. “All I asked you to do was cook one meal. You have to play your little games over something that simple?” Scraps of paper scattered across the floor. Those densely covered pages represented three hours of hard work. Behind her, my brother started wailing as if he’d been frightened. I sat there quietly, motionless. I didn’t even lift my eyes. Her shrieking mixed with his piercing cries until my head throbbed. Mom took my silence as an admission. She grabbed my hair, and before I could react, her raised right hand came down hard across my face. It happened in a flash. My cheek stung. My ears rang. “Remember this. Ethan is your own brother.” “As his older sister, you’re supposed to help him.” “When we’re gone, the two of you will have to support each other in this world.” “Don’t use your nasty little tricks on him.” She jabbed my forehead, furious that I apparently refused to learn. Then she took a deep breath, turned, and picked up my brother. Her face softened into pure maternal tenderness. As though the woman who had just slapped me in a rage had been someone else. Ethan clung to her, crying. “Don’t be mad, Mommy. I’m not hungry.” Her voice turned soothing. “Silly boy. Why would Mommy be mad at you?” “Your sister was wrong this time. She won’t dare do it again.” What a touching picture of a loving mother and her sweet son. Only after they left and shut the door did I raise my hand to my cheek. It hurt. That was the only thought in my head. Mom hadn’t held back. Or rather, it had never occurred to her to hold back. Whenever Ethan was involved, she became impulsive and furious. Every explanation sounded like an excuse to her. If she had taken just a few more steps, she would have seen the untouched dinner and neatly arranged forks on the table. Or if she’d glanced into the living room, she would have seen cartoons playing on the TV, with drinks and snacks scattered across the floor. But she hadn’t. All she ever did was blame me without asking what had happened. Scenes like this had played out far too many times. So many that I no longer wanted to explain. She hadn’t always been like this.I could vaguely remember a time when Mom used to brush my hair gently. She bought me pretty little dresses and fed me all kinds of delicious treats. Then one day, I came home from school to find her looking at me with excitement. “Natalie, you’re going to have a little brother.” “Aren’t you happy?” I was seven then. I had no idea why she was so thrilled. Mom already had me. Why did she need another child? Why was having a boy something to be happy about? I didn’t understand. But Mom was beaming. Even Dad was smiling at her belly. He rested his hand on it as though it held some priceless treasure. So I smiled, too, and said loudly, “Yes!” Everything changed the day my brother was born. I stood outside our front door, knocking again and again. No answer. No one had told me what was happening. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. My stomach growled with hunger, and tears slipped down my face. I sat on the steps, wiping my eyes and whispering for Mom. By the two-hundred-and-thirty-fourth time, they finally came home. Dad, who had always insisted he didn’t like children, was holding a tiny bundle. Mom saw me on the steps. The moment our eyes met, all the hurt inside me surged up. But before I could start sobbing, her words stopped me. “This is your brother, Ethan.” “Would you like to touch him?” I froze. The mother standing in front of me suddenly felt like a stranger. She didn’t ask if I’d been scared, the way she used to. She didn’t ask if I was hungry. She asked if I wanted to touch my brother. It was as though she couldn’t see my tears. She took my hand and guided it toward that little thing that did nothing but cry. I instinctively pulled back. Mom frowned. Her voice turned cold. “You’re a big sister now.” “You need to take responsibility. Look after your brother and be good to him.” “Do you understand?” She took out her keys, and the door I hadn’t been able to open, no matter how hard I knocked, finally swung wide. Dad went in first, carrying my brother. Then Mom. Then me. When I went to bed that night, their bedroom light was still on. Laughter drifted out now and then. “Boys really are different. Even looking at him makes me happy.” “Now we can finally stop worrying.”I naively believed having one more person in the house wouldn’t change much. I kept going to school and coming home, happy and oblivious. Just like before, I poured out every funny thing that had happened at school to Mom. I was so caught up in talking that I never noticed her eyes hadn’t left my brother’s face. “Mom, we’re having another family field day. What should we sign up for this time?” “The three-legged race or jump rope?” It was the third time I’d asked. Only then did she look up at me. Her arms tightened around my brother. “Natalie, I’m going to sit this one out.” “Your brother is still so little… He needs me.” Upset, I tugged at her sleeve. “But you said family field day was fun. You said you wanted to do it again.” “Mom, didn’t you say you loved playing with me?” She pressed her lips together and looked at my sleeping brother. “Natalie, you’re getting older. You need to be more understanding.” Understanding. Always understanding. Ever since my brother was born, that was the word I heard most. They all seemed to have forgotten I was only eight. My chest ached. I raised my voice. “It only happens once a year. Everyone else’s parents will be there.” “Didn’t we promise?” Maybe I was too loud. My brother stirred. He began to cry softly. Mom, who had still looked a little torn, frowned and pushed me away. I stumbled and landed on the floor. Her voice turned much colder. “Can you act like a big sister for once?” “It’s just some school event. I said I’m not going. Pestering me won’t change anything.” “Have you finished your homework? Go do it.” That line again. Whenever she didn’t want me around, she found some excuse to send me away so she could have peace and quiet. Watching her gently pat my brother, I finally understood how foolish I’d been. So Mom found my endless chatter annoying now. So Mom no longer cared whether I’d hurt myself when I fell. Slowly, it sank in. Mom seemed to belong only to my brother now.After Mom realized she’d wrongly accused me, perhaps she wanted to smooth things over. She offered to take Ethan and me shopping to clear our heads. I nodded silently. The handprint on my face still hadn’t faded. People passing by gave us strange looks. Mom seemed not to notice. She held my hand. “Natalie, you know how I am.” “I was wrong yesterday. Don’t take it to heart.” I didn’t know what to say. I’d stayed up late piecing together every page of the homework she had torn apart. Even so, my math teacher had made me stand outside the classroom for two entire periods. Mom knew nothing about any of it. “Will you forgive me?” She repeated the question. Her grip tightened around my hand. The sting in my cheek reminded me to answer quickly. “It’s okay.” That was what I said. Mom smiled, satisfied. Ethan started demanding food from a street vendor, and Mom hurried ahead. While paying, she seemed to finally remember me. She turned back. “Natalie, do you want some?” Before I could answer, she added, “You’re so grown-up now. You probably don’t like this stuff anymore.” The word “yes” stuck in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it or force it out. It lodged there until my chest hurt. I looked away and tried to sound indifferent. “No, thanks.” By the time I said it, she was already coming back with Ethan. There was only one serving. “If you want some, you can share Ethan’s,” she said. Ethan snatched it away and ran off. “I’m not sharing with Natalie! It’s all mine!” His voice carried back to us. Mom said, “Little kids always act like their snacks are treasure.” “As if his sister would actually fight him for it.” I clenched my hands. My very presence felt like a joke.