The Call from the Future

On my birthday, my mother got a call from herself, ten years in the future.
The voice on the phone told my mother everything.
“Your daughter grows up to be an ungrateful viper. She’ll take the money you slaved for and run off with some deadbeat.”
“Your husband, the one ‘away on business’? He’s just pretending to be broke. He’s waiting to bleed you dry before he marries his beautiful young mistress.”
My mother froze. The birthday cake slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.
Her face went cold as she stared at me. “If that’s the case,” she said, her voice like ice, “then I don’t want either of you. From now on, I’m going to be the main character in my own life.”
And with that, she slammed the door and locked it behind her.
I cried, my tiny hands pounding on the wood, a wave of panic and heartbreak so huge it felt like I was drowning.
My mother seemed to forget.
I was only six years old. I had just learned how to read.

1
I stood there, paralyzed by fear and confusion. I saw my mother turn, her face a mask of fury, and my heart leaped into my throat. I threw myself to the floor, clinging to her legs, my small body shaking with sobs.
"Mommy, don't leave me! Please, I'll be good. Betsy will be good."
But she just pushed me away, her eyes colder than I had ever seen them.
From the phone, the voice of my future mother boomed, filled with an unquenchable rage. "Eleanor, you are an independent woman! You can't let them hold you back anymore!"
"It's because I had her, because I had to take care of her, that I was chained to this house! I became some tired, washed-up housewife that I don't even recognize!"
I stared, uncomprehending. I didn't understand the words, but I understood the disgust in my mother's eyes as she looked at me.
Tears streamed down my face.
It wasn't true. We had Maria, our housekeeper, who cooked for us. I knew how to wash my own socks. I gave Mommy backrubs when she was tired.
If she would just stay, I would give her all my pocket money.
The thought made me scramble for my piggy bank. I held it up to her, a desperate plea in my eyes.
"Mommy, Betsy will give you all her money to buy pretty dresses."
For a second, my mother hesitated. A flicker of something—pity, maybe—crossed her face.
But then the voice on the phone cut through the silence again. "That little brat is a master manipulator. She'll say anything! She lies and steals your money and runs off with a boy!"
"Don't you fall for it!"
My mother’s face hardened. Her gaze on me was now sharp, piercing. She told me I was just like my father. Both of us were parasites, sucking her life away, caging her freedom.
She wrenched her leg from my grasp, so forcefully that I stumbled backward and landed hard on the cold floor.
"You stay here," she commanded. "Don't you dare come looking for me. And don't even think about calling."
The heavy front door slammed shut with a deafening crash. My mother was gone, her suitcase rolling behind her. Just before she was out of earshot, I heard the voice on the phone one last time.
"What if the little brat runs out after you? Cries to the neighbors? Your reputation will be ruined."
My mother's footsteps paused.
Click.
The deadbolt slid into place.
A final, metallic sound that sealed me in and her out.
"Don't go anywhere," her muffled voice came through the door. "Just be a good girl and wait for your father to come home."

2
I clawed at the door until my fingers were raw, but it wouldn't budge.
Eventually, exhausted and heartbroken, I curled up on the floor and cried myself to sleep.
When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the windows. My stomach was growling with a painful, hollow ache. There was no food in the house. Our housekeeper, Maria, was on vacation for a few days, and my mother had been ordering takeout for me.
I remembered there were some apples in the fridge. But those were for Dad.
Desperate, I went to the sink and chugged glass after glass of cold water. It filled my stomach with a bloated, icy feeling that temporarily pushed the hunger away. But soon, a burning emptiness returned, worse than before.
I curled up on the sofa in the corner of the living room, clutching my stomach, tears starting to fall again.
Mommy didn't want me anymore. After that phone call, she couldn't even stand to look at me.
Sobbing, I tiptoed into my mother's bedroom, pretending she was still there. I don't know how long I lay on her bed, but as I was drifting off, I saw something on her vanity table. They looked like little cups of jelly.
I was so hungry.
I didn't think. I scrambled over and ate them all.
A little while later, a sharp pain began to twist in my stomach. I needed the bathroom, but the door had swung shut and was stuck tight. I couldn't get it open.
The pain was getting worse. I cried out, fumbling for the watch phone on my wrist and calling my mother.
She answered.
"Mommy," I sobbed. "My tummy hurts."
Her voice was tight with irritation. "Can't you be a little more grown-up? Don't call me for every little thing."
"If your stomach hurts, take some medicine. Is that so hard to figure out?" she scoffed. Then, her voice dripped with venom. "Hasn't your deadbeat dad come home yet? Probably off enjoying himself in some other woman's bed. Disgusting."
She hung up.
A strange, foul smell filled the air. I couldn't hold it. I'd soiled my pants.
I shrank into the corner, terrified. Normally, if I had an accident like this, my mother would get the wooden spoon. But right now, all I wanted was for her to come back.
My head felt fuzzy and hot. I fell asleep again.
When I opened my eyes, my father was home.
His face was a thundercloud as he yelled at the phone in his hand. My mother's face was on the screen. "Look at what you've done to her! Eleanor, look at this child! She's six years old, were you trying to starve her to death? What kind of mother does this?!"
On the screen, my mother was in a brightly lit, fancy restaurant. She was slowly cutting a steak on her plate, not even bothering to look up.
Only when my father had finished shouting did she put down her knife and fork, elegantly dab her lips with a napkin, and offer the camera a mocking smile.
"What I've done? If she was hungry, couldn't she eat? If her stomach hurt, couldn't she find the bathroom? If she had a fever, she could take some medicine. What does any of that have to do with me?"
"I was never obligated to take care of her!"
She took a deep breath, her eyes turning red at the corners, as if she were the victim. "And don't think I don't know, Mark. Was it fun playing poor? Tricking me into being a housewife while you squirreled away your money?"
For a second, my father's angry expression cracked. He looked genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"
But she wouldn't elaborate. "Let's get a divorce," she said coldly, and ended the call.
The room was silent.
I knew my mother was just angry. She wanted my father to go to her, to comfort her. Whenever he was away on business before, she was always counting the days until he came home with a new handbag or a new dress. She cared about him.
I wiped my tears and looked up at my father. "Go get Mommy, please? I miss her."
His face hardened. He gently removed my hand from his sleeve. "If your mother wants to throw a tantrum, let her."
My father hired a new live-in nanny just for me, and our old housekeeper, Maria, was now tasked with making all my favorite foods.
In the days without my mother, things changed. The dishwasher was used for the first time. My pigtails, which were always lopsided, were now styled into beautiful new braids every morning. The clothes I wore were always a little too tight, and sometimes the other kids would laugh at me. The new nanny, Linda, pointed out that they were from two years ago. She got money from my father and bought me a whole new wardrobe of pretty dresses.
I had once asked my mother why she insisted on doing everything herself when she wasn't good at washing dishes or cooking, and always forgot to buy me clothes that fit.
She had told me we didn't have the money, and that I needed to learn not to be wasteful. Hiring a housekeeper was expensive.
I told this to my father, secretly asking him to let the nannies go.
He just snorted. "Your mother has a single dress in her closet that costs more than both their monthly salaries combined."

3
He threw open her closet doors.
"This is tens of thousands of dollars worth of clothes. And she says I tricked her into living a hard life?"
"If she wants a divorce, fine. I've had enough, too."
That night, I cried until I couldn't breathe. The old lady next door said I was a poor, pitiful thing. I was going to be a child of divorce.
I didn't know what that meant. I only knew that the woman on the phone, the one who claimed to be my mother from the future, had ruined everything. She had poisoned my mother's mind.
I tugged on my father's sleeve. "Mommy didn't mean it. The person on the phone tricked her. We have to go help her."
My father just frowned. "Betsy, don't be difficult. Your mother and I were always going to end up here."
Then, a strange, soft look came into his eyes. "If you don't like the new nanny, I can have another, prettier lady come take care of you."
I froze. I stumbled backward, shaking my head violently. My back hit the front door, and it swung open.
My mother was standing there. I fell right into her arms. For a split second, a delirious joy surged through me, and I opened my mouth to call her name.
But she pushed me away.
She held out a piece of paper, her voice cold. "Sign it."
"Nothing you say this time will change my mind…" she started to say, but was cut off.
My father had already signed the divorce papers without a word.
My mother was stunned. Her face went pale with rage. She whirled on me. "Me or your father. Who do you choose?"
Tears choked my voice. "I want it to be like before," I whispered. "I want Mommy and Daddy to be together."
My mother's expression changed instantly.
From her phone, which was in her pocket, I could hear the woman—the future mother—laughing.
"See? What did I tell you? She's an ungrateful little viper!"
"She'll never appreciate what you do for her. You work yourself to the bone raising her, and she's still attached to that man who is only her biological father."
I shook my head, desperately reaching for my mother's hand. "No, that's not it. I love Mommy. I'll go with Mommy. Please don't leave me."
My mother stared at me for a long time, her face unreadable.
The voice from the phone continued, relentless. "If you take that brat with you, your life is over. She's dead weight. A ball and chain."
"I am you, ten years from now! I know what I'm talking about! Don't make the same mistakes I did."
My mother's focus sharpened.
She looked at me. "I gave you a choice. You didn't take it."
"From now on, you are not my problem."
She pulled her hand away. For the second time, she abandoned me.
She called me dead weight.
The room fell silent again.
My father knelt in front of me. His voice was a blade of ice. "Your mother doesn't want you. Do you see that clearly now? She left you. From now on, whether you live or die, it has nothing to do with her."
Every word was an icicle piercing my skin. Silent tears slid down my cheeks, soaking the collar of my shirt.
My father stood up, straightening his cuffs. "Linda will be taking care of you for a few days."
I blinked. And then I saw her, standing behind him. A pretty woman with a tight smile.
Linda didn't like it when I cried. I learned quickly to swallow my tears when she was looking.
Linda also didn't like it when I got too close to my father.
"A big girl like you shouldn't be acting that way," she'd say, peeling an apple without looking at me. "Clinging to your father like that. It's not proper. It's the kind of thing a seductress would do."
My hands balled into fists. I didn't understand all her words, but I knew they were ugly. I held back my tears, because crying would only make her tell my father I was being manipulative.
One day, I noticed all the things my mother had left for me were gone. My favorite doll, my puzzles, the birthday presents she'd given me over the years—vanished.
Linda just smiled. "All that junk needed to be thrown out. People would think you were a beggar."
"Out with the old, in with the new," she sang. "From now on, in this house, you listen to me."
"I hate you!" The words burst out of me. I pushed her, hard. She stumbled and crashed into the coffee table.
My father was coming down the stairs and saw everything. For the first time in my life, he hit me.
He used his belt. It whistled through the air and cracked against my skin. The pain was so sharp I writhed on the floor, snot and tears streaming down my face.
"She threw away my things! The things Mommy gave me! I hate her!"
"Say that again!" he roared. "You disrespectful little brat!" The belt came down again, this time catching my cheek. A bright red welt appeared instantly, hot and stinging, the skin broken.
My father froze, his anger faltering for a second.
"If you apologize to Linda," he said coldly, "I'll forgive you."
"She's just a child, Mark," Linda said, her voice dripping with false concern. "She doesn't know any better. I'll teach her."
I scrambled to my feet, wiped my face, and ran.
As the door slammed behind me, I heard Linda's voice. "Should we go after her?"
"No," my father replied. "Let her learn her lesson. Her mother filled her head with poison."

4
I wandered the streets, a homeless child.
I pulled out my watch phone. I missed my mom. I had to call her.
After a moment of silence, she said, "Fine. Come here."
I was ecstatic. I thought she was ready to forgive me. With the last five dollars I had, I bought a single rose from a street vendor. A present for her.
When I got to the address she gave me and held out the flower, the disgust on her face was plain to see.
"Where's your father?" she asked, frowning. "He used to send me 999 roses. Does he think he can win me back with one pathetic flower, using you as his messenger?"
She scoffed. "Not a chance."
"You go back and tell him that from now on, I'll travel to Europe when I want, I'll buy what I want, and he won't say a word about it! I am done letting you two drain the life out of me."
"I am the main character now."
I looked up at her, my voice barely a whisper. "But… Dad doesn't want me anymore." My hands twisted the hem of my shirt. "There's a new lady living with us. She doesn't let me cry, or get close to Dad. She made him hit me."
Tears welled in my eyes. I wanted to show her the marks on my arms, to make her feel sorry for me.
But the triumphant, defiant look on her face froze. She stared at me, her eyes narrowed, trying to see if I was lying.
Then, she sneered. "So he's trying to see who can be more ruthless, is that it?"
"Why should I take on the dead weight he doesn't want?" she spat.
She called into the house, and a little girl came running out. The girl was wearing a frilly princess dress. She hugged my mother's legs and chirped, "Mommy~"
My world shattered.
I lunged forward, trying to push the little girl away. "She's my mommy!"
But my mother just gave me a cold look and picked the other girl up.
"And who are you?" she asked, pretending to think.
"Go back and tell your father that I find both of you utterly repulsive. I have a new life now. Better choices. And a much sweeter, more obedient daughter than you."
She turned away, cooing at the little girl, the perfect picture of a loving mother and daughter.
I stood there, watching them, a cold hand squeezing my heart until I couldn't breathe.
My mother's phone was on her hip, the speaker on.
And I heard that voice again. The voice of my future self.
"That's it," the voice cheered. "Make the little brat regret it! Let them both burn! Hahaha."
"Don't go soft now. She's just putting on an act again!"
No.
That's not right.
I wasn't acting.
My head started to pound. Hearing that familiar voice, it all clicked into place.
I suddenly knew exactly who the 'mother from the future' really was.
I ran after my mother, desperate to tell her the truth. But she was already crossing the street, disappearing into the crowd.
"Mommy!" I cried, darting into the road after her.
The next second, an explosion of pain swallowed me whole.

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