Cut Off Our Relationship With Scissors

My name is Maya, and Im ten years old.

I dont have a father. Its always just been me and my mom, clinging to each other in our quiet little house.

Not long ago, I discovered her secret: I might not be the only child she has.

1. The Strange Mother

I love my mother. I love her with a fierce, desperate intensity.

But my mother isnt like the other moms in the neighborhood. I first realized this during a Creative Writing workshop at school. Our teacher, Mrs. Gable, gave us a prompt: My Mother.

This is what I wrote:

My mom hits me and screams at me, but shes still the best mother in the world because she loves me in her own way. She gives me all the candy I wantsweet, sticky Skittles and chocolate barsbecause she says sugar is love. She lets me eat tubs of Ben & Jerrys for dinner. She lets me watch cartoons until my eyes burn and play video games until my fingers ache. She hands me everything she thinks is good in the world, piled high on a silver platter.

So when she hits me, Im not even mad. Besides, she only does it when I mess up my piano practice. Im just too stupid to get the notes right, so I deserve it. But I like my mom best when shes been drinking. When shes drunk, she holds me tight and whispers that she loves me. The hitting-and-screaming mom is okay, but the hugging-and-kissing mom is my favorite.

Theres one weird thing, though. When shes been drinking, she cries. She asks me why I hate her when she loves me so much. I want to tell her I dont hate her. I love her. When she cries, my heart breaks into a million pieces. I try to hug her back, but she pushes me away. She looks at me like Im a stranger. Like Im not her daughter at all.

It scares me. I reach for her, but she walks away. Im terrified shes going to leave me behind. I want this essay to tell her: Mom, I dont hate you. I love the candy. I love the games. I even love the hitting and the screaming, because it means youre looking at me. I am your child. I will take whatever you give me. I love you.

When I finished reading my essay, the classroom went silent. Mrs. Gable and my classmates stared at me with these hollow, horrified expressions. It was like they were looking at a ghost.

Then my desk mate, Madison, read her essay.

Madisons mom was perfect. Her mom wouldn't let her have candy because it rotted her teeth. Her mom limited her screen time to protect her eyes. Everything in Madisons life had a boundary, and every boundary was framed as an act of protection.

I sat there, stunned. My mom never said no. I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. But looking at the faces in the room, I realized that Madisons mom was the "normal" one.

That was the moment the seed of doubt was planted. Was something wrong with my mother? Or was something wrong with me?

After class, a crowd gathered around my desk.

"You seriously get to eat candy for dinner?" one boy asked, eyes wide.

"Can you really stay up all night playing Call of Duty and she doesn't care?"

They were jealous. They asked a dozen questions, and when I confirmed it all, they sighed with longing.

"Your mom is the coolest," they said. "I wish my mom was like that."

I felt a rush of relief. See? My mom wasn't a problem. She just loved me more than their moms loved them.

But then Madison spoke up. Madison was the class president, the kind of girl who always had her hair in perfect braids and never missed a comma.

"Maya, that isn't love," she said, her voice sharp and clinical. "Thats indulgence. A mother who actually loves her child wants them to grow up to be someone. She wouldn't let you rot your brain and your body like that."

I wanted to argue, but the words got stuck in my throat. I didn't know how other mothers loved; I only knew mine.

"Don't listen to her, Maya," another girl whispered. "Madisons mom is a drill sergeant. Shes just jealous."

"I'm not jealous," Madison snapped. "Haven't you heard the saying? To spare the rod is to spoil the child. Real love has discipline. Ask your moms tonightwould they ever let you do what Mayas mom lets her do?"

The envy in the room evaporated instantly. Everyone looked down at their shoes.

Madison smirked, leaning in. "Only a mother who doesn't care about the future lets a kid run wild. My aunt is a stepmother, and she treats her stepson exactly like that. She lets him do whatever he wants because she wants him to fail. My mom calls it 'killing with kindness.' It's the easiest way to get rid of a kid you don't want. Maya, are you sure shes even your real mom?"

Before I could think, my fist collided with Madisons eye.

"Your mom is the fake one!" I screamed.

We went down in a tangle of limbs and hair. By the time the teachers pulled us apart, Madison had two black eyes that were already beginning to swell like bruised plums. I was barely touched, just a few stray hairs out of place.

I stared at her, dazed. Was I really that strong?

The school called our parents.

The moment Madisons mom walked in, she let out a sob and gathered Madison into her arms. "Oh, my baby! My poor, sweet girl! Who did this to you?"

My mom arrived a few minutes later. She glanced at me once, but she didn't rush over. She didn't hold me. She just stood there, looking tired.

Madisons mom turned on me like a whirlwind, pointing a manicured finger at my face. "You! You little monster! You hit my daughter? Im calling the police. Im not letting this go!"

She looked like she wanted to tear me apart. I shrunk back.

Finally, my mom spoke. "What happened, Maya?"

Tears pricked my eyes. I reached for her hand. "Madison said... she said you weren't my real mom. She said you didn't love me."

Madisons mom shrieked, "So you assault her? There is no excuse! You need to apologize right now!"

"I shouldn't have hit her," I fired back, my voice trembling. "But she shouldn't have lied about my mom. She said only a stepmother would treat a kid like you treat me. She insulted you! She should apologize first!"

My moms expression shifted. It was complex, unreadable.

"Mom," I whispered, "you love me, right? She said you didn't, and I just... I couldn't handle it."

My mom smiled then. And for the first time in my memorywhile she was completely sobershe wrapped her arms around me.

"Oh, my silly, silly Maya," she murmured into my hair. "Of course I love you. You're the only thing in this world I love."

I felt a warm drop of water hit my shoulder. She was crying.

A sudden, overwhelming wave of sadness crashed over me. A voice in the back of my mind whispered: When Mom is sad, give her a Love-Hug.

I followed the impulse. I squeezed her tight. "When Mom is sad, give her a Love-Hug," I repeated.

My mother stiffened. She shoved me away so hard I nearly fell. The tears were still on her cheeks, but her eyes had turned back to ice. If I couldn't still feel the heat of her skin on mine, I would have thought the hug was a hallucination.

"Are we done with the melodrama?" Madisons mom snapped. "I want an apology."

"Maya did nothing wrong," my mom said, her voice flat. "She won't be apologizing."

My heart soared. She was on my side! She did love me! I looked at her with pure adoration, but her eyes weren't on me anymore. She was looking through me, staring at a ghost standing right behind my shoulder.

Mrs. Gable cleared her throat. "Mayas mother, I have to be honestI disagree with your parenting style. I know being a single mother is hard, especially... well, at your age. But this level of indulgence is damaging. Youre raising a child who thinks violence is the answer and who has no self-control. Youre the one who will suffer for it in the end."

She went on and on about how my mom was failing me because we were poor, or because she was "older." I didn't care about the money. But looking at my mom standing next to Madisons mom, I noticed it for the first time.

My mom looked ancient.

She was probably the same age as Madisons mom, but she looked twenty years older. Madisons mom had glowing skin and perfect highlights. My mom was gray, her face etched with deep, permanent lines around her mouth and foreheadthe kind of lines you get from a lifetime of frowning.

She looked miserable. And it was my fault. I wasn't good enough, or smart enough, to make her happy.

"Mayas mom, are you even listening?" Mrs. Gable asked, her patience wearing thin.

My mom remained silent. She was enduring this lecture for me. She didn't want me to apologize because she wanted to protect me. But I couldn't let her stay in the line of fire.

"Mrs. Gable," I interrupted. "Im sorry. I shouldn't have hit Madison. I apologize."

I turned to Madison and gave her a stiff bow. Then, I reached for my moms hand.

But my mother snapped. She whipped her hand away and glared at me with pure, unadulterated venom. "Who told you to apologize?"

I froze. "I... I just didn't want you to get in trouble, Mom. Im sorry"

She didn't listen. She erupted like a volcano that had been dormant for a thousand years. She started kicking me, slapping my face, her voice rising to a frantic shriek.

"Who told you to apologize? Why can't you just listen? Why do you always have to make me angry? Why are you so disobedient? Just die! Why don't you just go and die!"

The blows rained down on me, and my brain went numb. I didn't know why she was angry, but I knew I had failed her again. I curled into a ball, sobbing, "Im sorry, Mom. Im sorry. Please don't be mad."

In that moment, I wasn't a person to her. I was a punching bag. A vessel for all the rage she couldn't point at the rest of the world.

The teachers eventually pulled her off me. Madisons mom had pulled her daughter into a corner, shielding her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the carnage.

That image hurt more than the slap across my face. That was real protection. Tender. Careful. My mother had never once looked at me like that.

"This is domestic abuse!" Mrs. Gable yelled. "I'm calling the police!"

"Call them!" my mom screamed, her face a mask of indifference. "Shes my daughter. Ill raise her how I want!"

Then, she grabbed my wrist. "Get up. Were going home."

My face was burning and my ribs ached, but the moment she touched my hand, the pain vanished. Her hand was the only source of warmth I had. I followed her out of the office, glancing back at Mrs. Gable with a look of apology. My mom is just tired, I wanted to say. She has so little in this world. She was trying to protect me, and she didn't know how.

I understood her. But the teachers just watched me go with pity, as if I were a stray dog being led back to a cage.

On the walk home, she didn't say a word. Her jaw was set tight. I knew she was feeling guiltyshe always got quiet after she hit me. Later, she would get drunk and hold me and tell me she loved me.

I didn't want her to get drunk tonight.

"Mom," I said softly. "Im not going to eat candy anymore. Or ice cream. I won't watch cartoons or play games. Ill be a good girl. I won't fight. If being a 'good girl' means not doing those things, then Ill stop. I won't let anyone say bad things about you ever again."

She stopped in her tracks. She looked at me for a long time, then reached out and ruffled my hair with a forced smile. "Maya, I don't need you to be a good girl. Just be yourself."

I shook my head firmly. "No. I want to be your good girl."

Her face twisted back into that terrifying, manic mask. She raised her hand again. "I said I don't need a good girl!"

I flinched, my voice breaking. "Okay! Okay, Mom! Im sorry! I won't be a good girl! Ill be whatever you want!"

The hand lowered. She stroked my head affectionately. "Thats my girl."

It was so confusing. What kind of mother didn't want a "good" child? But I told myself she was just being selfless. She had so little to give me that she wanted me to have all the small joys, even if they were bad for me.

But I made a secret vow. For her sake, I would be a good girl in private.

When we got home, she went to the kitchen to cook. She dumped a pile of candy and a bowl of ice cream on the table. "Eat up, Maya."

I didn't touch them.

When she came back and saw the melted ice cream and the wrapped candies, her face darkened, but she didn't scream. She just looked... hollow.

During dinner, I ate every bit of the broccoli and chicken she cooked. "This is a million times better than candy, Mom," I said.

She started to smile, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

After dinner, she handed me the iPad. "Go watch your show."

I watched for exactly fifteen minutes, then turned it off. Madison said fifteen minutes was the limit for "good" kids.

My moms knuckles turned white. She handed me her phone. "Is the show boring? Play your game then."

I shook my head. "I have homework to finish. No games tonight."

She balled her fists. I instinctively tilted my head, waiting for the blow.

It didn't come. She just turned and walked into her bedroom, slamming the door.

Through the thin walls, I heard her sobbing.

I stood outside her door, paralyzed. I didn't mean to make her cry. I was trying to save her! Suddenly, the door flew open. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the dining table.

She unwrapped a piece of taffy and held it to my lips. Her eyes were wide, pleading, and terrifyingly soft. "Maya, baby, Im sorry I hit you. I won't do it again. You can do whatever you want. Look, your favorite candy. Eat it. Eat as much as you want. Mom will unwrap them for you, okay?"

She had never been this gentle while sober.

I swallowed the candy. It was so sweet it made my throat ache. She unwrapped another. Then another. Five. Ten. Twenty. There was only one left on the table.

She was grinning now, a frantic, shaky mess of a smile. But I felt like I was dying.

When she reached for the last one, I shook my head. "Mom, I can't. Im full."

Her smile froze. "Why? Don't you want to be Mom's good girl?"

Thats not it! I thought. Good girls don't eat twenty pieces of candy!

"Other moms" I started.

"OTHER MOMS?" she shrieked. "Are you my daughter or theirs? I told you to eat it! EAT IT!"

I knew if I just took the candy, shed be happy. Shed hug me. But something inside me broke. I realized then that she didn't love me. She only loved the version of me that obeyed this specific, weird rule.

I fought her, but she was stronger. She forced my mouth open and shoved the twenty-first piece of candy down my throat.

Only when I swallowed did she calm down.

"There," she whispered, stroking my cheek. "Wasn't that sweet, Maya? Isn't it delicious?"

I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe. I couldn't answer her.

Because that candy tasted like poison.

She stared at me for a minute. "Its just sugar. Why are you crying?"

But as she said it, her own eyes filled with tears. She turned and ran out of the house, leaving me alone in the silence.

The house felt like a tomb. I sat on the sofa, watching the clock. Every tick felt like a heartbeat fading away. What if she never came back? Id have no one.

I regretted everything. Why did I care if she loved me "properly"? If she stayed, I would be whatever she wanted. I would be a monster if it made her smile.

I ran out to find her. I found her by the river near our house, standing on the edge of the embankment. She looked so small against the dark water, like she was ready to let go of the world entirely.

I threw my arms around her waist. "Im sorry! Ill do whatever you say! Ill only listen to you! Ill be your version of a good girl forever! Just don't leave me!"

She looked down at me with such profound grief. She pulled me into a crushing hug and howled into the night. "Maya, Im so sorry. Im a horrible mother."

"No," I whispered, wiping her tears. "You're the best mom in the world."

She only sobbed harder.

2. Have I Lost My Mind?

After that night, everything changed.

Mom got busy. She started working extra shifts, and she stopped hovering over me while I ate candy or played games.

I kept doing it, though. I ate the sugar. I watched the screens. I followed her "rules" religiously because I wanted her to be happy when she got home.

One night, she came home very late. She seemed surprised to see me up.

"Why aren't you in bed?" she asked.

"Mom, were out of candy," I said, waiting for her to praise me for finishing it.

She blinked. "Oh. Okay. Ill buy more tomorrow."

She didn't care. The disappointment was a cold weight in my chest. It felt like she had given up on me.

Desperate to win her back, I started practicing the piano. I practiced the only song she ever taught me: Fr Elise.

I didn't have a teacher. My mom was my only instructor, and shed only ever taught me this one piece. I knew it by heart, except for the very last movement. I could never get the phrasing right.

Whenever I played, Mom would look happyuntil I reached that final part. Then shed explode.

"Why are you so stupid? Its so simple! Why do you keep torturing me with that mistake?"

I wanted to make her proud, so I went to the music teacher at school. I told her my storywell, a version of it. I told her I wanted to surprise my mom.

"I don't have money for lessons," I said, "but Ill clean your classroom for a year if you just show me how to play the end of Fr Elise correctly."

The teacher, Ms. Adler, gave me a sad smile. "You don't have to clean anything, Maya. Just play it for me."

I played. When I finished, she looked puzzled. "Maya... you played that perfectly. There were no mistakes."

I stared at her. "Really? But my mom says I get the end wrong every time."

Ms. Adler laughed gently. "Maybe your moms memory is just a little rusty. You go home and tell her that a professional says youre a natural. Ill vouch for you."

I was ecstatic. I wasn't stupid! I was doing it right!

That night, I sat at the piano and waited. The moment I heard her key in the lock, I struck the first note.

Fr Elise filled the room. Mom walked over, her face softening, her eyes misting over as she listened. She was completely under the spell of the music.

Then, I reached the final movement. I played it exactly as Ms. Adler had taught me.

Moms face contorted.

"The music teacher at school taught me," I said, still playing. "She said Ive been doing it right all along! Isn't that great, Mom? Im not stupid!"

Mom lunged. She grabbed me by the ear and yanked me off the stool. She threw me to the floor and started kicking.

"Who told you to go to a teacher? Who gave you permission?"

She was a whirlwind of violenceslapping, kicking, pulling my hair. She treated me like a ragdoll she was trying to rip apart. "Who told you to go to a teacher? Answer me!"

"I just... I wanted you to be happy!" I sobbed, the air leaving my lungs. "I thought if I played it right, youd be happy!"

She froze. Then she collapsed onto the floor, wailing. "God! Why am I so poor? Why do I have to suffer like this?"

I watched her, bruised and broken, and I realized I didn't understand anything. Why did she want me to play the "wrong" note? Why did my fingers insist on playing the "right" one even when I knew it would hurt me?

I was a failure. I would never make her happy.

Why are you so stupid? Why don't you just die? Her words echoed in my head.

Maybe she was right. If I couldn't make her happy, maybe I shouldn't be here at all. The thought took root. If my absence was the only thing that could give her peace, I would go.

But I couldn't leave without saying goodbye.

I went into her room to write her a letter. I wanted to be surrounded by her scent while I said my final words. While looking for paper, I found an old, yellowed photo tucked inside her journal.

It was a picture of me, Mom, and a man Id never seen before. We were all smiling. We looked like a real family.

But something was wrong. Mom looked young and vibrant in the photo. But I looked exactly the same as I do now.

If this was an old photo, I should be a baby. But I looked ten years old. And I had no memory of that man. No memory of that day.

I realized then that I must have amnesia. That was why I was "stupid." That was why Mom was miserable. There was a hole in my life where a father and a past used to be.

If I could find the missing pieces, maybe I could fix her. I didn't care about having a dad, but if he was the key to Moms smile, I had to find him.

3. Who is the Other Child?

Mom grew more distant. She took on a third job at a warehouse. She came home smelling of cardboard and exhaustion.

I wanted to help. I found a job handing out flyers after school. Thirty dollars for three hours. If I did it every day, I could give her nine hundred dollars a month.

The boss only hired me because I told him it was a surprise for my moms birthday. I worked like a demon, dodging the truant officers, imagining the look on her face when I handed her the cash.

Then came the day of the storm.

The air was thick and humid. The swallows were flying low. Mom always told me never to go out in the rain.

But I had one last stack of flyers. If I finished them, Id have the full nine hundred.

I stayed out. The rain started as a drizzle and turned into a deluge. My head started to throb. My breath came in ragged gasps. Don't get sick, I told myself. Sick kids cost money.

I woke up in a hospital bed.

Mom was asleep in the chair next to me. I reached out and touched her face, feeling a strange, hollow sense of peace. I hadn't been this close to her in weeks.

She woke up, her eyes bloodshot and weary.

"Mom, Im sorry," I whispered. "I shouldn't have been in the rain. I wasted your money."

She looked at me with that unreadable, complex gaze. I braced for the anger. But she just sighed. "Don't do it again, Maya."

We were okay. For a while, we were actually okay. While I recovered, she brought me treats and stayed by my side. I ate everything she gave me. I even asked for candy and ice cream.

"You don't have to eat those anymore," she said quietly. "From now on, do what you like."

I didn't have things I liked. I only liked her. But the fact that she gave me permission to be "normal" felt like a miracle. I thought she finally loved me for me.

When I went back to school, Madison turned her back on me. "Liar," she hissed.

"What?" I asked. We had been on okay terms since the fight.

"You said your mom lets you eat whatever you want. Youre such a fake, Maya."

"She does!"

"Liar. I saw you at the mall this weekend. Your mom bought an ice cream cone and let you have one bite. You asked for more, and she said, 'Good girls don't overindulge.' And you just stood there like a little robot."

The mall? This weekend?

"Madison, I was in the hospital this weekend."

"Likely story." She pulled out her phone and showed me a photo. "I took a picture because I knew youd lie. Look."

It was my mom. And it was "me."

The girl in the photo looked exactly like me. Same hair, same height, same face. But it wasn't me.

My heart felt like it had been hollowed out with an ice cream scoop.

Mom didn't stop giving me candy because she loved me. She stopped because she had a new "good girl." A version of me that didn't need to be forced.

After school, I followed my mom. I waited outside her factory and trailed her bike at a distance. She didn't go home. She went to the hospitalthe same one Id just left.

I followed her up to the third floor. I peered through the window of a private room.

Inside, Mom was dressing a girl in a beautiful, sparkling dance leotard. The girlthe one who looked just like medid a few clumsy pirouettes.

Mom started to cry. But they weren't the bitter tears she shed with me. They were tears of pure, radiant joy.

I didn't go in. I didn't ask who she was. I just knew.

She was the "real" Maya. My twin. My sister. Maybe Mom and Dad split them up, and Mom kept me while Dad kept her. But Mom clearly loved her more. Mom was miserable with me because I wasn't her.

I watched the girl dance. If I could dance like that, would Mom love me too?

I used my flyer money to buy the exact same leotard. I practiced the girls movements in the park until my legs shook. I memorized every tilt of her head.

Then, I performed it for Mom at home.

She didn't clap. She didn't smile.

"Where did you get those clothes?" she hissed. "Who told you to dance like that? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

She beat me again. But this time, I didn't cry. My heart was already empty. There was nothing left to bleed.

I had to find the man in the photo. I had to give the "other" girl back to Mom and find a way to disappear. As long as Mom was happy, I didn't matter.