The Star We Kept Hidden
She tugged at it twice, hard, and when it wouldn't budge, she simply let go of the pull-tab and sank onto the floor.
I watched her from the crack in my bedroom door, afraid to make a sound.
Dad, Ethan, was in the living room, his voice low and tight on the phone. "Where is she going to go? No money, barely any friends. Just let her be, she'll come back when she's cooled off."
Hes wrong.
I whispered the protest in my mind.
Mom wasn't coming back. Her eyes had told me so.
Vivian finally stood up, not looking again at the bulging, half-zipped bag. She walked to my doorway and crouched down, bringing her gaze level with mine.
"Aubrey," she called me, her voice a little rough, but gentle. "Mommy has to go on a trip."
1
I stared at the tiny mole on the bridge of her nose. "How long?"
She paused, then reached out to touch my cheek. Her fingertips were cool.
"It might... be a long time. You have to be a good girl, Aubrey. Listen to Dad, and eat all your dinner, okay?"
I nodded.
I knew what a "long trip" meant.
My friend Mandy's mom upstairs went on a "long trip" and never returned. Mandy said her mom didn't want her anymore.
Would Mom not want me, either?
The thought was a cold, slick snake that suddenly slithered into my heart and coiled there.
She leaned closer and kissed my forehead. It was so light, like a feather landing.
Then she stood up, grabbed the travel bag, and walked toward the front door without a backward glance. The zipper was still broken, gaping like a black, silent mockery.
Dad hung up the phone and stood in the center of the living room, watching her. He didn't speak. He didn't try to stop her.
His face was drawn and pale in the hallway light, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line.
The door clicked shut with a soft finality.
The house fell into an enormous silence. It was so quiet I could hear the refrigerator compressor humming, and the frantic thump-thump-thump of my own heart, beating like a small drum.
Dad stood there for a moment, then walked to the sofa and dropped onto it heavily, burying his face in his hands.
My eyes fell on the coffee table.
A single butterscotch candy lay there, wrapped in a pretty gold and orange foil. Mom had given it to me that morning.
Shed said: When life gets bitter, you eat a piece of candy.
I walked over, carefully peeled back the wrapper, and put the orange-yellow square in my mouth. It was sweet, cloyingly sweet. But the sweetness, once it reached my throat, morphed into a strange, inexplicable ache that made me want to cry.
I smoothed out the wrinkled foil, holding it up to the lamp. The wrapper refracted the light into vibrant, tiny, fragile stars.
Mom was gone.
She left with a broken zipper and what I knew was a broken heart.
My world, from that moment on, was fundamentally different.
2
Sierra arrived on the third day after Mom left.
She carried a large bag of fresh groceries and put them in the refrigerator like she knew exactly where everything belonged. She moved like she already owned the place.
"Goodness, look at this mess," she muttered, frowning. Her eyes swept over Dad's shirt tossed on the sofa and my uncollected blocks on the rug. "A grown man trying to raise a kid aloneit just doesn't work."
Dad scratched his head awkwardly. "We're making do."
Sierra didn't respond. She tied on an apron and began straightening up. She was quick and efficient, and soon the living room looked immaculate. Then she disappeared into the kitchen, where the clatter of pots and pans began.
I sat at the dining table, watching her back.
Sierra was nothing like Mom.
Vivian always cooked slowly, sometimes staring out the window and letting something scorch on the stove. Sierra wouldn't; her every movement was precise and productive.
When dinner was servedthree dishes and a soupit was colorful, fragrant, and perfectly presented.
"Aubrey, eat up," Sierra said, putting a generous slice of pot roast onto my plate with a bright smile. "Youre too skinny. Aunt Sierra will come make you good food all the time now, okay?"
I didn't answer, just kept my head down, picking at my rice.
The pot roast was tender, practically melting in my mouth. It tasted objectively better than Mom's cooking.
But I still felt that something was missing.
Dad was eating with gusto, praising her enthusiastically. "Sierra, your cooking is incredible. Vivian... sigh... she could never get it to taste like this."
Sierra gave him a playful, scolding look. "Vivian had bigger things on her mind. She had a whole world waiting for her, Ethan."
Dad just snorted and didn't say anything else.
My heart sank. A bigger world? Was it bigger than me and Dad?
After dinner, Sierra went to do the dishes. Dad sat on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. I heard her light humming mixed in with the sound of the running water. She sounded... happy.
When she finished, Sierra took off her apron and walked over to sit next to Dad. She sat so close, almost touching him.
"Ethan, look at your beard. How many days since you shaved? You're a mess." She reached out, as if to lightly touch his chin.
Dad instinctively leaned back a little.
Sierra's hand froze mid-air. Her smile flickered for a second, then she casually pulled her hand back.
"By the way, my brother has a projectit sounds promising. You should take a look. Might be a good opportunity."
Dads interest perked up. "Oh? What kind of project?"
They leaned in close, talking in hushed tones. Dad's expression was focused. He only used to look that focused when he was looking at Mom.
A heavy feeling settled in my chest, like a ball of wet cotton.
I stood up, wanting to retreat to my room.
As I walked past them, Sierra suddenly stopped me.
"Aubrey, is your homework done? If not, go do it. Adults have business to discuss, and kids shouldn't eavesdrop." Her tone was natural, radiating a self-assured familiarity, as if she were already a permanent fixture with the right to organize my life.
Dad looked up. "Listen to Sierra, go do your homework."
I looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, and held a strange expression I couldn't decipher, something like relief. He didn't look at me for long, quickly lowering his head to resume talking with Sierra.
I silently turned and walked back to my room. I closed the door, shutting out the low murmuring from the living room.
My homework lay open on the desk, but I couldn't focus on a single word. I picked up the wrinkled candy wrapper from the afternoon and carefully smoothed it out, folding it into a tiny, eight-pointed star.
The foil star glimmered faintly under the desk lamp.
Mom, where are you right now? What is your world like?
3
Sierra started coming over more and more often.
She even began doing Dad's laundry.
I saw her once, taking his pajamas off the clothesline, folding them neatly, and putting them into his dresser. When she saw me, she smiled.
"Aubrey, home from school? Your dad is so careless about the house. He can't manage without someone looking after him."
I didn't say anything.
I remembered Mom saying underwear should be hand-washed, never thrown into the washing machine with outerwear. Mom always hand-washed everything.
Dad didn't seem to notice or care. He actually seemed to be enjoying the attention. His shirts were crisp, his socks weren't scattered everywhere, and there was a bit more laughter on his face. The kind of relaxed smile I hadn't seen since Mom left.
The house no longer smelled of burnt vegetables. The floors were always spotless, and the fridge was stocked with food.
Everything, on the surface, was getting better.
But I felt that our home was becoming more and more alien. The air was now thick with Sierra's light jasmine perfume, masking the faint, warm, familiar scent Mom had left behind.
Sierra took over my life, too.
She checked my assignments, circling mistakes with a red pen. "Aubrey, this word is wrong." "This problem needs a different approach. Let Aunt Sierra show you."
She bought me new clothespink, with lacenot the comfortable blue and athletic styles I preferred. "A girl should dress pretty, right?"
She set time limits for my TV watching and rationed my snacks. "This is for your own good, Aubrey. You need to be sensible."
Dad always backed her up: "Listen to Sierra."
He grew increasingly reliant on her. He discussed work worries and daily annoyances with her. They spent more and more time together. Sometimes Sierra stayed late, in the study with Dad, "talking business."
The study door would be closed, and I could hear their low voices, occasionally punctuated by Sierra's clear, bright laugh. I sat in the living room, hugging my knees, staring at that closed door.
The cold snake in my heart began to wriggle again.
Once, I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Passing the study, I heard Sierra's voice, laced with a hint of petulance.
"Her leaving, it really did clear the path for us, didn't it, Ethan? Don't you think this was fate?"
Dad's reply was mumbled. "Don't say things like that... the kid is still here..."
"Aubrey will have to accept it eventually. Are you still holding out hope that Vivian will come back?"
Silence followed. My heart lodged itself in my throat.
Then I heard Dad say, very softly, "She won't."
The word was quiet, yet it landed on my chest like a boulder.
She won't come back.
Mom won't come back.
And Dad... Dad didn't want her back, either.
I tiptoed back to my room, climbed into bed, and pulled the blanket over my head. In the dark, I found the candy wrapper star under my pillow and clenched it tightly in my fist, the sharp edges digging painfully into my palm.
4
That weekend, Sierra suggested a picnic.
"Let's take Aubrey out. It's not good for her to be cooped up in the house all the time."
Dad agreed.
We drove to a park on the city outskirts. The weather was beautiful, sunny and bright, and the lawns were dotted with families picnicking.
Sierra spread out a nice checkered blanket and arranged homemade sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. She even brought a small kite.
"Aubrey, look what Aunt Sierra brought! Want to fly a kite?" She held the kite up, her smile dazzling, and beckoned to me.
I stood still.
Dad nudged me. "Go on, Aubrey. Sierra's talking to you."
I walked over slowly.
Sierra put the string spool in my hand, showing me how to let out the line and how to run. Her palm was soft and smelled of hand lotion.
The kite wobbled, then soared up into the sky. It was a colorful butterfly.
"It's flying! You're so good, Aubrey!" Sierra clapped and cheered like a kid herself.
Dad sat on the blanket, watching us, a relaxed smile on his face.
The scene looked exactly like a happy, harmonious family.
But the kite string was taut, tethering the butterfly that flew higher and higher, like it was ready to snap and disappear into the blue at any moment. Just like Mom.
Tired from running, I went back to the blanket. Sierra handed me a bottle of juice, then picked up a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and handed it naturally to Dad.
"Have some water." Her movement was fluid and intimate.
Dad took a drink.
I watched them, and suddenly I spoke. "Dad, Mom always used to open your water bottles for you too."
Dad froze, the bottle mid-air. Sierra's smile faded slightly.
The atmosphere grew instantly awkward.
"Did she?" Dad lowered the bottle, looking uncomfortable. "I don't remember."
He did remember.
Mom had small hands and sometimes struggled with the cap. She would pout and hand the bottle to him to help. Dad would laugh, call her his "little idiot," and open it easily. Sometimes, hed pretend he couldn't open it either, just to watch her fret, then burst out laughing.
Those moments were perfectly clear in my head. How could he forget?
Sierra picked up a sandwich and offered it to me. "Aubrey, try Aunt Sierra's tuna salad sandwich. Your dad says it's delicious."
I looked at the sandwich but didn't take it.
"Mom said I can't have tuna. I'm allergic," I said softly.
It was true. When I was little, I'd eaten tuna once and broken out in hives that were so itchy and painful I had to get shots for days. After that, Mom banned all tuna products from the house.
Dad's face shifted. He had clearly forgotten that too.
Sierra's hand stayed suspended in the air. Her smile finally vanished completely. She pulled her hand back, putting the sandwich on the plate. Her voice was flat. "Oh, really? Well, have something else then."
The rest of the picnic was subdued.
The kite eventually got stuck high up in a tree, beyond reach. Sierra said it was fine, we'd just buy a new one next time.
But I knew there wouldn't be a next time.
On the drive home, I sat in the back, watching the scenery rush by the window. Dad drove in focused silence. Sierra was in the passenger seat, looking down at her phone. They didn't exchange a single word.
I secretly pulled the candy wrapper star from my pocket. Sunlight streamed through the car window, illuminating the star with a faint, determined glow.
Mom, I didn't eat the tuna. I remember your words.
I remember you, too.
I never forgot.
5
My first birthday since Mom left arrived.
Dad asked me how I wanted to celebrate.
I said I wanted cake.
I didn't really crave cake. I just remembered that every year, Mom would buy me a beautiful buttercream cake with small candles. She would hold me as we blew out the candles, then tell me to make a wish. She said that a birthday wish doesn't come true if you say it out loud, so you have to keep it in your heart.
My wish had always been the same: I wish Mom, Dad, and I could be together forever.
But that wish never came true.
Dad bought a huge cake, piled high with fruit and chocolate. It was bigger and flashier than any Mom had ever bought.
Sierra came over, too. She gave me a brand-new dress as a birthday gift.
"Thank you, Sierra," I said, taking the dress and offering a polite thank you.
Dad seemed pleased by my "sensibility."
He lit the candles and turned off the lights. "Aubrey, make a wish!" he prompted.
Sierra smiled, watching me.
The candlelight flickered, reflecting in their faces.
I closed my eyes.
Mom, where are you? Do you remember it's my birthday?
I whispered the question silently in my heart, then blew out the candles.
The lights came back on. Dad began to cut the cake.
He cut me a huge slice with my favorite strawberries on top. I took my fork, dug out a small piece, and put it in my mouth. The frosting was too sweet, the strawberries too tart. The mixed flavors were strange.
"Is it good?" Dad asked, looking expectant.
I nodded. "It's good."
Dad smiled, clearly relieved. He cut a slice for Sierra, too. She ate daintily, complimenting the flavor.
The phone rang just then.
Dad walked over to answer it. I saw his expression change the moment he looked at the caller ID. He walked onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him.
My heart started to race. I had a strange premonition.
Sierra also noticed his unusual behavior. She put down her fork, watching the balcony with a slight crease in her brow.
The sound from the balcony was muffled, but I caught a few words.
"...No need... she's fine... just take care of yourself..."
Who was it? Was it Mom?
The fork slipped from my hand and clattered onto the plate.
Sierra turned to look at me, her expression complicated.
A moment later, Dad came back in. His expression was back to normal, even carrying a hint of relief.
"Telemarketer," he said casually, sitting down and picking up his fork.
He was lying. I knew it.
That look, that toneit was absolutely not the way someone reacts to a cold call.
It was Mom. It had to be Mom.
She remembered my birthday. She called.
But Dad didn't want me to know. He rejected Mom. He said, "No need."
No need for what? No need to see me? No need to send wishes? Or... no need to contact me ever again?
The cake in my mouth suddenly turned unbearably bitter, impossible to swallow. My stomach twisted violently.
I put down my fork. "Dad, I'm full."
"Already? You barely ate anything," Dad said, surprised.
"Yeah, I'm just not hungry." I slid off the chair. "I think I'll go rest in my room."
I walked into my room, closed the door, and slid down the wood, collapsing onto the floor.
Tears sprang up without warning, falling in fat drops. I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself from sobbing out loud.
In my pocket, I squeezed the candy wrapper star until it was nearly embedded in my skin.
Mom.
Mom.
I called her name over and over in my head.
6
I noticed Dad started going into the office for "overtime" on weekends.
He'd be wearing a crisp, pressed shirt, his hair neatly combed, smelling faintly of cologne. Before leaving, he'd instruct me, "Aubrey, Dad has to go into the office. You be a good girl at home alone. Do your homework, no more than an hour of screen time. Sierra will come over and make you lunch."
I'd nod obediently.
But I knew he wasn't going to work.
One time, I secretly followed him. He didn't go to the office tower. Instead, he went to a coffee shop downtown. Sierra was waiting for him there. They greeted each other with a natural, brief hug, then walked inside, holding hands.
Another time, they went to the movies. Like a couple on a date, Sierra carried a huge bucket of popcorn, and Dad held two sodas. Sierra was beaming, and Dad looked at her with a soft tenderness I hadn't seen in a long time.
I didn't follow them anymore.
The snake in my heart was no longer wriggling; it just lay there, cold and rigid.
I went back home and sat in the empty living room. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting dappled shadows on the floor. The air was silent, save for the ticking of the wall clock's second hand.
I took out a photo of Mom and gently traced her face with my finger. In the picture, she was smiling so beautifully, her eyes crinkling like crescent moons.
But where was she now? Was she doing okay? Did she... miss me?
When Dad came home that evening, he brought me a new pencil case.
"Like it? I passed a store and thought you'd love it."
It was a beautiful pencil case, double-layered, with a combination lock and a popular cartoon print. If it had been before, I would have jumped up and down with joy. Now, I just took it and mumbled, "Thank you, Dad."
Dad patted my head. "Good girl, Aubrey."
A faint scent of cologne still lingered on his hand. That smell, mixed with the light jasmine from Sierra, created a strange, suffocating odor.
I began to dream of Mom frequently.
In the dreams, she was always crying. She was walking alone on unfamiliar streets, her back thin and lonely. I wanted to run and hug her, but my feet were pinned to the ground. I wanted to scream her name, but no sound would come out of my throat. I could only watch her walk farther and farther away until she disappeared into the mist.
I would wake up, my face drenched in tears. My pillow was wet, and so was my heart.
I grew quieter and quieter. At school, I stopped playing with the other kids, sitting at my desk and staring into space during recess.
My teacher noticed and spoke to me several times, asking if something was wrong at home. I shook my head, saying nothing.
Family business. How could I tell a stranger?
Dad and Sierra were immersed in their "new" life and didn't seem to notice my change. Or perhaps they did notice, but didn't care. Dad thought I was just being "sensible," not clingy like before. Sierra figured that kids just need time to adjust.
Until that day, when I overheard their argument.
I was already asleep that night when I was awakened by raised voices in the living room. It was Sierra's voice, sharper than usual.
"When is she leaving? It's been long enough! Are we going to keep doing this forever?"
Dad's voice was soothing. "Lower your voice! Aubrey's sleeping! Where is she going to go? She's my daughter!"
"Daughter? Does she even see me as a person? Haven't I been good enough to her? Look at her faceshe glowers all the time, like I owe her a million dollars! Ethan, I've given up so much for you! I didn't get involved with you to be a free babysitter who has to put up with your daughter's attitude!"
"Sierra, don't be like this... Aubrey's just a kid, she needs time..."
"Time, time! How much time are you going to give her? A year? Two years? Ten years? I can't wait that long! Ethan, I'm laying it out now: it's either her or me! One of us goes!"
"You... you're putting me on the spot!"
"No, you are! Tell me, who are you choosing?"
The argument ended abruptly.
I lay in bed, chilled to the bone. My limbs felt soaked in ice water, unable to move.
Its either her or me.
Sierra was forcing Dad to choose. Choose me, or choose her.
Who would Dad choose?
I couldn't bring myself to think about it. Fear instantly overwhelmed me like a tidal wave. I curled into a ball, squeezing my eyes shut, pretending I hadn't heard a thing.
But the phrase repeated itself like a curse in my mind.
Its either her or me.
7
My midterms were a disaster. My grades plummeted.
The teacher called Dad in for a conference.
On the way home, Dad's face was a stone mask. The moment we stepped inside, he threw my backpack onto the sofa and barked at me, "Aubrey Miller! What is wrong with you? Why are your grades so bad? What are you doing in class?"
I kept my head down, staring at the tips of my shoes, saying nothing.
"Answer me!" Dad's voice rose by an octave. "Are you just playing games all day? Watching TV? On your phone? How many times have I told you to study? Are you even listening to a word I say?"
I remained silent. My throat felt stuffed with cotton.
"You..." Dad raised his hand, fueled by anger.
I instinctively closed my eyes and flinched.
The expected slap didn't come. I opened my eyes and saw Dad's hand frozen mid-air, his face a mixture of rage and profound disappointment. He eventually dropped his hand and sank onto the sofa in defeat.
"Aubrey," his voice was exhausted. "I'm busy with work, and I'm tired. Can you please... please just stop worrying me?"
I looked at him. He looked genuinely drained, with heavy dark circles under his eyes and, I thought, a few more gray hairs at his temples. He was no longer the all-powerful Dad of my memory, the one who used to hoist me high onto his shoulders.
But Dad, did you know that I was tired too?
My heart was so tired.
Sierra walked out of the kitchen then. She had been listening.
"Ethan, don't get upset. Kids mess up sometimes, it's normal." She came over, sat next to Dad, and gently rubbed his back, as if calming an agitated beast.
Then she looked at me, her tone gentle but her eyes holding a critical gaze. "Aubrey, tell your fatheris something bothering you? Is there something on your mind? You can talk to Sierra, I can help."
I looked at her, at the hand resting on Dad's back, and at her confident "lady of the house" posture.
The emotions that had been bottled up for too long, like a lit fuse, finally reached the end.
I lifted my head, looked straight at Dad, and asked, one word at a time:
"Dad, did you abandon Mom?"
"Are you abandoning me too?"
Dad froze. The smile instantly evaporated from Sierra's face.
The living room was plunged into absolute silence. Time seemed to stop. I could hear my own shallow, quick breaths and see the dust motes dancing in the sunlight.
Dad's lips moved, as if he wanted to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide with shock.
Sierra jumped up, her voice shrill. "Aubrey! What are you saying! Who put those words in your mouth?! It must be Vivian! She's gone, but her ghost is still here! She's coaching the child to hate us!"
I did not let her distract me. My eyes stayed locked on Dad.
"Dad," my voice was trembling, but I tried to keep it steady. "The one who called that dayit was Mom, wasn't it? Why wouldn't you let me take the call? Did you tell Mom not to contact me again?"
Dad's face went instantly pale. "How did... how did you know?"
"I heard you." I said. "I also know you and Sierra weren't working overtime. You were on dates. Going to the movies, getting coffee." I turned my gaze to Sierra, watching her face drain of color. "Sierra, that cardigan you're wearing is my mom's. Those slippers on your feet are my mom's. Your perfume is covering up my mom's scent. You cook better food than my mom did. You take better care of Dad than my mom did."
I spoke in a rush, pouring out everything I had seen, heard, and felt over the past months. It was a dam breaking.
"But this is my and Mom and Dad's home. It's not your home."
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