Mom seemed to recall the matter, but then appeared to remember something else. She asked the owner, “Do you have any newly made cakes today? My younger daughter is turning eighteen.”
“Of course. We have strawberry, blueberry, and mango flavors.”
Mom was at a loss. She had no idea what flavor I liked. She had never cared about such things before; she just made sure I ate whatever was necessary to keep me healthy and never asked about my preferences.
She looked up, bewildered, and said, “I don’t know what she likes.”
“Then let’s get a strawberry cake. Most girls love that, and I’m sure your daughter will too.”
I did like strawberry cake, and I watched with some sadness as the owner expertly wrapped it up. Unfortunately, this strawberry cake was one I would never taste.
When Mom brought the two cakes home, both Dad and Sister were surprised. After learning the reason, they silently set the cakes out and even placed candles on them.
I didn’t understand why they were celebrating a birthday for someone who was already dead, especially when they had never bought me even a small cake while I was alive. Because of Allie’s illness, the family
had always avoided celebrating birthdays. Mom had said I couldn’t indulge myself at the expense of Sister’s feelings.
Were they trying to make amends for me, or were they just trying to ease their own guilt?
After the cake was finished, the family was about to go to bed when Mom suddenly shook Dad awake and asked if he had any photos of me. Dad got up and searched with her, going through phone albums, cloud storage, and every drawer in the house. They only found photos of Allie and their three together, all smiling with happiness. I looked at these photos with a pang of regret. I had wanted to be in these pictures with them, but Mom had pushed me away, saying I had no right.
What were they looking for now?
Finally, Dad found a photo of me as a newborn on my birth certificate. My chubby face and grape–like eyes were filled with hope for the future. This was the only photo of me kept in the house over the eighteen years. Mom, upon seeing the photo, carefully tore it from the certificate and pressed it to her chest, as if this would somehow make her feel my presence.
Mom clung to the photo and sat still all night. Sister, watching in distress, approached to persuade Mom to rest, but was roughly pushed away. Mom yelled, “Alanna, why did you have to be born into our family with your illness? I regret having you! If only I had given birth to Fairy instead, she would have grown up healthy, unlike
you, who wastes the family’s money and has brought nothing but suffering. Why couldn’t you have died sooner? Why must you continue to torment the whole family and Fairy?”
Mom’s words became increasingly harsh, and Sister’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t understand why the mother who once loved her so deeply now treated her like an enemy and hurled such painful accusations.
I was also confused. Why was Mom attacking the daughter she had tried so hard to save? Why was she now regretting the decision to have Sister?
Dad, unable to tolerate this any longer, shielded Sister and said angrily, “Shane, stop this. We’re all heartbroken over Fairy’s death, but it’s a fact we must accept. We need to move forward, not keep blaming innocent people!”
Mom, equally enraged, jumped up and shouted, “Who in this family is innocent? You are all the ones who killed Fairy!”
Dad and Sister fell silent, lowering their heads.
Just like Mom, Dad prioritized Allie’s needs and emotions because of her illness. Even though he knew they had wronged me, he took it as a given that my sacrifice was normal.
Allie, who saw all my grievances clearly, never spoke up for me, as she could not
live like a normal person due to her illness. She accepted the sacrifice of my childhood, emotions, and normal life as a given.
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