I Died Five Years Ago

When my father, Charles, changed the name on my mothers private maternity clinic registration to his widowed sister-in-law's just to make her smile, my mother didnt scream. She didnt cry. She didnt throw the porcelain vases against the hardwood floor of our Connecticut estate as she once had.

Instead, when Lydiahis late brothers fragile, demanding widowlooked at my mothers swollen stomach and winced, my mother quietly picked up the rotary phone and scheduled an abortion.

Everyone in our social circle whispered that the proud Mrs. Erica Vance had finally learned her place. She had finally "behaved."

Even my father nodded with cold satisfaction. "Lydia was entrusted to me by my late brother," he told her, adjusting his tie without looking at her. "I have a duty to protect her. Im glad you finally understand."

My mother didnt argue. She simply slid her wedding ring and a signed divorce agreement across the polished mahogany table, offering to step aside and set him free.

But instead of accepting it, my father flew into a violent rage. He tore the papers to shreds, scattering them like snow across the rug, and ordered the gates of the estate locked. He locked her inside, telling her to stay there until she "reflected on her selfishness."

At first, he had his driver deliver photographs of his outings with Lydiasunlit picnics, broad smiles, cozy dinnershoping to break her pride and force her to beg for his return.

Eventually, the world forgot about Erica. People began treating Lydia as the true lady of the manor.

It wasnt until five years later, when Lydia fell ill and desperately needed a kidney transplant, that my father finally stepped through the heavy doors of the old estate again.

"Erica, Lydia is my brothers only legacy. You cant just watch her die..."

But no matter how much he pleaded, the house remained deathly quiet. No one answered.

Slamming the door in a fit of frustration, he shouted, "Five years! Are you still nursing this petty grudge? You wont even save a life just to spite me?"

He had no idea. My mother had never belonged to this world.

She was a traveler, bound by a cosmic System that required her to bear two children for a husband destined to have no heirs.

And she was already gone. She had died on that cold operating table five years ago, during the abortion he forced upon her.

My fathers anger had burned hot and long.

The day after she locked herself in, he ordered the gardener to tear up every single sunflower blooming in the backyardsunflowers he had once planted for herand replace them with blood-red roses, the flowers my mother hated most.

I stood by the waste bins, helplessly watching the vibrant yellow petals wither and turn black in the trash.

A memory of my mother drifted through my mind. When I was small, she loved to sit on the wooden bench by the sunflower patch, pulling me onto her lap to tell me how my father had planted each seed by hand, sweating under the summer sun just to see her smile. I still remembered the soft, glowing warmth in her eyes back then.

But everything shifted the moment he brought Lydia home.

The moment Lydia shed a single tear, my mother became the villain.

The man who had once loved my mother as if she were his very breath suddenly became a stranger. He stood by, silent and indifferent, as Lydia chipped away at my mothers dignity, constantly demanding that my mother "compromise" and "be reasonable."

He even took down their grand oil wedding portrait from the parlor wall, replacing it with a portrait of Lydia and her late husband, claiming it comforted her grief.

That was when my mothers spirit began to break.

Their marriage devolved into a series of bitter, desperate arguments. Soon, the laughter vanished entirely, and I never saw my mother smile again.

And then came the final blow: my father giving her hard-won private maternity spot and the family trust allocation to Lydia, claiming the widows fragile health required the premium care more.

Overnight, my mother became the laughingstock of the county.

But this time, she didn't fight.

She silently packed away the tiny, hand-sewn baby clothes she had spent months embroidering. She shut herself in her room and didn't come out. And before Lydia could even gloat, my mother booked the abortion.

Everyone said she had finally learned her lesson.

But I was terrified.

Because I was the only one who could see the glowing, translucent words floating above her head:

[System Protocol: Integration Attempt Failed. Termination protocol scheduled in three days.]

Three days. The exact day of her abortion.

I wanted to beg her to stay, to plead with her not to leave me behind. But when I looked into her hollow, resigned eyes, the words choked in my throat.

On that final morning, she held me close for a long time. She whispered soft, urgent instructions: I had to survive, I had to take care of myself...

And then, she gave me a smile. A real, beautiful smile I hadn't seen in years.

"Lucy, my sweet girl. Mama will always protect you."

Hours later, when the bleeding wouldn't stop, I ran to find my father. I screamed and banged on his study door all night, then begged the local clinic doctors to come.

Only the next morning did I learn that Lydia had developed a mild cold and couldn't sleep. My father had gathered every prominent doctor in the city to attend to her bedside.

I pulled my gaze back to the present, clutching the small wooden urn containing my mother's ashes. Only here, in this quiet corner, did I feel a shred of peace.

That evening, my father returned. Lydia was clinging to his arm.

"Your mother has spent five years harboring her petty spite, and she's raised you to be just as undisciplined," my father said, glaring down at me with cold disapproval. "You dont even have the decency to greet us. Have you forgotten the rules of this house?"

I averted my eyes, pretending I hadn't heard him.

What did he want me to call Lydia? Stepmother?

She didn't deserve the title.

Seeing my silence, Lydia lowered her eyes, her lower lip trembling as if she had been deeply wounded.

"Charles, please don't blame the child. It's my fault. I know my presence is an eyesore to Erica, and Lucy is just defending her mother. I understand, really."

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest.

Even after all these years, Lydia's tactics remained flawless. She was a master of casting herself as the tragic, long-suffering victim.

My father frowned but said nothing more to her. He turned his harsh gaze toward the closed, dark bedroom door.

"Erica, Ive given you more than enough time."

His patience fully depleted, he strode toward the door.

But before his hand could touch the brass doorknob, Lydia gasped, clutching her chest in apparent agony.

"Its fine, Charles... If Erica doesn't want to see me, let's just go. My life isn't worth much anyway. No one would care if I died..."

Panic instantly washed over my father's face. He swept her into his arms.

"Don't speak like that! What do you mean, no one cares? I care! I won't let anything happen to you!"

Gravely anxious, he turned to his security guards and pointed at me. "Make her kneel," he ordered coldly, his voice echoing toward the closed door.

"Erica! If you want to hide in there forever, go ahead. But your precious daughter will stay right here. She won't rise until you step out of that room. Let's see how long your stubborn pride lasts!"

I watched my father carry Lydia away, his back retreating down the long hallway. A profound, aching bitterness settled in my chest.

He knew my mother loved me more than life itself. He knew she would do anything to protect me.

But my mother had been gone for five years.

How could she possibly come out?

I knelt on the cold hardwood floor for two full days, until my vision went black and I collapsed.

When I finally woke, my father was back. Standing beside him were my maternal grandparents, Richard and Martha.

Looking at their faceswhich bore a haunting seventy-percent resemblance to my mothersa tiny spark of hope flared in my chest.

But before I could speak, they bypassed me entirely and warmly took Lydias hands.

My grandmother smoothed Lydia's hair, her eyes overflowing with motherly concern. "Lydia, sweetheart, you must be exhausted. Look how thin you've gotten."

My grandfather chimed in quickly, "Ill make that pigeon broth you love tonight. We need to get some strength back into you."

I swallowed the cry that had risen to my throat. The silent ache in my chest throbbed like an open wound.

Lydia had been their favorite student and teaching assistant back when they taught at the university. Growing up, all I ever heard from them were comparisons.

"If only you were half as brilliant as Lydia..."

"If only you were as sensible as Lydia..."

They ignored the fact that Lydia had plagiarized my mothers research to steal her fellowship at the institute. They ignored that when they fell gravely ill, it was my mother who stayed by their bedsides night and day, nursing them back to health.

In the end, Lydia took credit for all of it. They had even informally adopted her as their goddaughter.

These two stern, traditionally rigid academics were now smiling warmly at Lydia. Yet, my mother had once told me they despised public displays of emotion.

It felt like an eternity before my grandmother finally glanced my way, her expression instantly hardening into cold aloofness.

"Where is your mother? Weve traveled all this way, and she can't even bother to step out and greet us? Still throwing her childish tantrums, I see."

I lowered my head, my throat dry as dust.

"Mama... she..."

Before I could finish, Lydia cut me off. She released my grandmothers hand, her eyes instantly welling with tears.

"Erica clearly doesn't want to see me. That's why she's hiding. Maybe I should just leave... After all, no matter how hard I try, Ill always be an outsider here."

My grandmother immediately pulled her back, alarmed. "Lydia, don't say such foolish things! How could you be an outsider?" She glared at me, her voice rising in anger. "Tell your mother to get out here this instant. Its just a kidney. Shes enjoyed the privileges of this family for years; the least she can do is help Lydia now."

My grandfather nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Lucy, you need to talk some sense into your mother. It's a simple procedure. If she had just agreed sooner, Lydia wouldn't have suffered so much."

I stared at them, my heart heavy with a profound, suffocating sorrow.

These were my mother's flesh and blood. Yet, they hadn't asked about her health once since they arrived. Instead, they treated a manipulative stranger like a precious gem.

I raised my eyes, unable to stay silent.

"Grandmother, Grandfather... do you even remember who your actual daughter is?"

My voice trembled with tears, speaking all the unspoken grief my mother had carried. "You haven't checked on her once in five years. And now that you're finally here, it's only to force her to give up a part of herself for someone else. Do you even care if she lives or dies?"

My desperate, tearful defense of my mother did nothing to move them. Instead, my grandmothers face contorted with rage, and she slapped me across the cheek.

"You insolent child!" she hissed, her finger shaking as she pointed at me. "What a curse on this family. We already have one rebellious daughter to disappoint us, and now shes raised you to be just as rotten. I told Charles years ago that we should have let Lydia raise you. Look at youa perfect copy of your mothers stubborn, ungrateful ways."

Lydia smirked, a brief flash of triumph crossing her eyes before she quickly adopted a saintly, soothing tone. She took my grandmothers hand.

"Please, don't upset yourself. Don't blame Erica or Lucy. A child only knows what she's taught. If Erica forbade her from agreeing, Lucy wouldn't dare say yes. It's my fault for being so unlikable. I really should just go..."

She took a fragile, swaying step backward, then suddenly clutched her head and collapsed.

My father caught her in his arms, panic-stricken.

"Lydia! Is it your heart again?" He turned to one of the servants, his voice sharp with urgency. "Go to the safe in the study. Bring me the silver locket. The warmth of the blessed metal will help soothe her chest."

The servant hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.

"Sir... the locket... the mistress broke it."

"What?" my father demanded, his eyes widening.

"That day Miss Lydia was in severe pain and went to ask the mistress if she could borrow the locket for its blessing. The mistress said shed rather smash it to pieces than let Miss Lydia touch it. And then she... she threw it against the hearth. Miss Lydia begged me not to tell you because she didn't want you to punish the mistress."

My fathers face darkened with absolute disbelief. "She destroyed it?"

That locket was a sacred relic. When he had been deployed as a diplomat to a dangerous war zone, my mother had climbed the rugged peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains on foot, praying at every step, just to have a hermit abbot bless it with her entire life savings.

"Charles," Lydia whimpered, her voice dripping with sorrow, though her eyes remained sharp and calculating. "I saw her burning your old love letters, too. I thought she was just angry... I didn't think she would actually destroy the locket."

The last thread of my father's restraint snapped.

With a roar of fury, he grabbed a heavy mahogany chair and smashed it against my mothers locked bedroom door.

"I am giving you forty-eight hours, Erica!" he screamed, his voice hoarse with rage. "If you do not show your face, I will have the doctors harvest Lucy's kidney instead. You'd better think long and hard about that!"

I instinctively reached into my collar, my fingers brushing against the cool silver of the locket. It was still there, hanging safely around my neck.

My mother had never destroyed it. She had never burned his letters, either; they were safely preserved in a wooden trunk under her bed. Before she left, she had placed the locket around my neck to protect me.

My father claimed to love her once, yet he believed Lydia's transparent lies without a second thought. He didn't even bother to check the room.

My chest tight, I felt a strange sense of relief.

Thank god, I thought. Thank god Mama left this place. Thank god she doesn't have to endure this anymore.

To watch the person you loved most tear you apart to protect the very person who ruined you... how much agony could one heart take?

I stood there like a ghost, quietly watching them fuss over Lydia. As I tried to slip away unnoticed, Lydias hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength.

"Lucy, please," she sobbed, her tears flowing freely. "What did I do wrong? Tell me, and Ill fix it. Every time you look at me with those cold eyes, it reminds me so much of your mother. I dont know what she told you about me, but... I swear Ive never wanted to hurt her. Ive tried so hard to make her accept me, but..."

With a few delicate words, she painted herself as the innocent victim of a cruel mother-daughter duo.

But I could never forget the stormy night he first brought her back.

I had been burning with a dangerously high fever. Terrified, my mother had carried me through the pouring rain to the diplomatic compound, begging the medical staff for help.

Instead of a doctor, we were met by Lydia, draped in my fathers dry coat.

I remembered the sheer malice in her eyes as she whispered to my mother, "Surprised to see me, Erica? Did you really think you could keep my stolen fellowship, my adoptive parents, and live happily ever after? I don't believe in fate. Everything you have, Im taking it all."

Then, she ordered the guards to shut the gates, forbidding my mother from entering without her permission.

My mother had carried me through the torrential rain all night until she finally found a local clinic.

When my father returned the next day after hearing the news, I thought he would demand justice for us. Instead, he blindly swallowed Lydias lies and forced my mother to kneel in the drafty family chapel for two full days as punishment for "inciting drama."

"Lucy, what did I do to deserve this?" Lydia cried, her eyes red and swollen. "You can hate me, you can hit me, but please don't look at me like that."

Nauseated by her hypocrisy, I tried to pull my arm free.

Before I could even exert any force, she collapsed backward like a broken doll.

A split second later, my fathers hand cracked across my face.

"Lucy!" he roared. "I thought staying near your mother all these years would teach you some humility, but you've only inherited her toxic jealousy! Today, I will teach you the meaning of respect."

"Bring me the crop," he barked at the guards. "If your mother won't raise you right, I will."

I was pinned to the floor. The heavy leather crop rained down on my back, tearing through my clothes. The sharp tang of blood filled the air, and my face drained of color as the agonizing pain tore through my senses.

Lydia whimpered from the sofa, "Charles, please stop... Its just a scratch, I don't blame her. It's natural she hates me; I'm a stranger to her. If only I hadn't lost my own baby back then... maybe things would be different."

My father paused, his eyes softening with deep pity as he looked at her.

"If you want, Lucy can be your daughter. From today on, we are moving back into the main house together."

Lydia's eyes flared with a triumphant joy she could barely mask.

She knew what this meant. Moving into the estate meant she was only a marriage license away from officially becoming Mrs. Charles Vance.

With a mouth full of blood, my vision finally went dark, and I drifted into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, the familiar estate had been completely stripped of its soul.

The elegant, custom furniture my mother had carefully designed was gone, replaced by flashy, modern pieces currently trending in the city.

Stumbling frantically into my room, I only breathed a sigh of relief when I found my mothers wooden urn and clutched it tightly to my chest.

My father pushed the door open. He froze for a moment when he saw my face.

I looked so much like my mother. Sometimes, even I gasped when I looked in the mirror.

For once, his tone softened. "Lucy... did you drink the medicine the doctor left?"

I nodded numbly.

"Don't hold a grudge against me," he said quietly. "I only did it because I didn't want you to grow up as stubborn and bitter as your mother. About the transplant... I thought about it. If you really don't want to..."

Before he could finish, Lydias weak voice drifted from the hallway.

"Charles... my pills... where are they?"

He immediately abandoned his sentence, rushing to pull the medication from his pocket and administer it to her. "If you're not feeling well, don't walk around. Rest."

Lydia nodded, her eyes sliding past his shoulder to land on me.

"Lucy, what are you holding? Why does it have Erica's portrait on it?"

My fathers gaze snapped to the box in my arms.

His brow furrowed, and he snatched it away. When he realized what it was, his face turned completely white.

Lydia gasped, horror-struck, covering her mouth. "Is that... ashes? Lucy, how could you?"

She looked at my father with tears streaming down her face. "No wonder my condition keeps worsening... Erica must hate me so much that she'd fake her own death just to curse me."

She clutched her heart, groaning in simulated agony.

His face contorted with fury, my father threw the wooden box out the open window.

I tried to scream, to run, but I was too late. I watched the urn plunge into the dark depths of the estate's pond. My world shattered.

"Erica, you've lost your mind!" my father bellowed.

He kicked open her bedroom door, expecting to find her hiding, but the room was completely bare.

A sudden, cold dread seemed to flicker in his eyes at the emptiness of the space.

But Lydia was weeping loudly. "She did this to curse me... she's been hiding just to torture us... let her have her wish. I'll just die."

Lydia closed her eyes and went limp.

Panicking, my father scooped her up and roared at the guards outside:

"Get the car! We are going to the hospital right now. If Erica won't show her face, we will use Lucy's kidney. I will not let Lydia die!"

I kept my eyes fixed on the ripples in the pond as they dragged me into the car.

At the hospital, my fathers furious demands echoed down the hallway:

"I don't care what it takes! Just save her!"

A sharp, blinding pain soon tore through my abdomen. No anesthesia. No sterile care.

The corrupt private doctors my father hired exchanged a nervous glance, then left me bleeding on the cold metal table.

"Don't blame us, kid," one whispered. "Miss Lydia ordered it this way."

Dragging my failing body, I slowly crawled toward the open window of the operating room.

Gradually, the agonizing pain began to fade. The cold air felt like a gentle caress, and in the distance, I saw my mothers warm, beautiful smile waiting for me.

Without a single doubt, I reached out and let myself fall toward her.