A Biased Mother

In a daze, I recalled how things had been before I turned six.

Back then, although my parents favored Andrew because he was younger, they still showed me a decent amount of care.

But the year I turned six, I accidentally stumbled upon Dad hugging another woman downstairs.

Too young to understand what was happening, I ran and told Mom about it. She confronted Dad, and a huge argument erupted.

I stood there dumbly, not grasping the situation. However, I had a faint inkling that Dad had done something to hurt Mom. So, I stepped forward and planted myself in front of her. Then, I sternly told Dad not to bully Mom.

Meanwhile, Andrew ran over crying and hugged them both, sobbing that he didn't want them to go separate ways. They held Andrew and cried together, miraculously reconciling right there and then.

After that, they turned their united front against me.

Mom jabbed a finger at me and berated me for meddling in things that didn't concern me. Dad slapped me and called me a troublemaker who'd shattered the peace and happiness of the family.

It wasn't until I grew older and Mom once let it slip that I learned the truth. She had known about Dad's affair all along but chose to pretend otherwise because she didn't want a divorce.

My telling on Dad that day had torn away the last shred of pretense between them.

As Mom was a strong-willed person, she felt she had to make a scene for the sake of her pride. As for Dad, though unfaithful, he didn't want to be labeled as a man who abandoned his wife and children, so he never had any intention of getting a divorce.

As a result, Andrew became the stepping stone for their mutual reconciliation.

And in the end, I became a thorn in their side, a constant reminder that their marriage was already rotten at its core.

From that day on, I was branded the troublemaker, and was completely ignored in the family. Andrew, on the other hand, became the angel who had held the family together, the cherished favorite of both parents.

Thus, he grew even bolder, freely fabricating stories about me in front of them. Eventually, I became the person they despised most.

…

Once they got home, Mom hurried to the drugstore to get ice packs and painkillers for Andrew's sprained wrist. According to her, even though there were no broken bones, they still shouldn't take it lightly.

Dad peeled and cut all the fruit into bite-sized pieces and fed them to Andrew, claiming he needed to rest and shouldn't use his hands.

The dinner table was laden with all of Andrew's favorite dishes.

Mom rushed to serve Andrew soup, and Dad fought to serve him the best pieces on the table.

Andrew basked in this exclusive attention, a blissful smile on his face.

"Mom, Dad, you've both had a long day today. You need to eat up, too."

With that, he served each of them some food.

Dad looked pleased. "Now Andy's learning to take care of us, too. I'll make sure I finish up every single bite you gave me!"

Mom was moved to tears. "You truly are my precious boy."

The slightest kindness from Andrew moved them deeply. Yet no matter what I did, I could never earn a single word of praise.

Suddenly, as if remembering something, Mom slammed her cutlery on the table, her expression turning icy.

"That beast of a child! He still hasn't come back yet! How dare he give us an attitude! We've been merciful that we didn't report him for attempted murder, and now he's running away from home?"

Dad waved his hand irritably.

"Don't mention him. Good riddance if he doesn't come back. Spares me the irritation. Andy's birthday is the day after tomorrow. We should focus on preparing for that."

Mom instantly brightened up when she heard that and began discussing Andrew's birthday celebration. She wanted to invite all their friends and relatives for a celebration.

Laughter and cheerful chatter filled the dining room, and no one mentioned me again.

My throat tightened, and I could hardly hold back my tears.

I couldn't help thinking, "Mom, I'm already dead. Why must I still endure your contempt even after death? If you never loved me, why did you bring me into this world in the first place?"

…

Andrew's birthday party soon arrived. Mom and Dad splurged, booking an entire banquet hall and even hanging a celebratory banner.

Every guest who arrived praised my parents for their love for Andrew.

Suddenly, a relative of ours pointed at the gold bracelet on Mom's wrist and teased, "Did Andy give you this? No wonder you dote on him so much. Who wouldn't love such a thoughtful son? My son's the exact opposite. He gives me headaches every day."

Mom's expression instantly stiffened because I was the one who bought her that bracelet.

All these years, even though the love she gave me was but a fraction of what she gave Andrew, a part of me still yearned for her affection.

I had saved up every penny from tutoring my classmates after school to buy her that bracelet, hoping for just a smile from her. But instead of praising me, she accused me of stealing money from home.

The way she had stared at me, that blatant suspicion and scrutiny, remained etched in my memory until this very day.

Mom forced an awkward smile, excused herself, and walked over to Dad. She tugged at his sleeve, looking hesitant. "Do you think something might've happened to Franklin? He still isn't back."

On the third day after my death, my mother finally remembered me. However, it was far too late.

Dad frowned. "He's not a child anymore. What could possibly happen to him?"

Andrew suddenly murmured, "Maybe Franklin just doesn't want to see me. After all, he said that as long as I'm in this house, he can't stand being here for a single moment."

The flicker of worry on Mom's face instantly vanished, and was replaced by cold anger. "Then he shouldn't ever come back anymore! This family isn't his to rule! Andy is our precious son. What does he even amount to anyway?"

My heart ached as if pierced by needles, each prick sending waves of dense, suffocating pain.

As you wished, Mom. I could never return anymore.

…

Inside the banquet hall, laughter and joy echoed. Mom wore a smile I rarely saw.

The next moment, her phone rang. She answered cheerfully, "Hey Seth, is anything the matter? It's Andy's birthday today, so I'm pretty busy."

It was Seth on the other end—the man who had tried to convince Mom to rescue me that day.

He fell silent for a moment before his voice, heavy with grief, came through. "Edith, Frank is dead. How can you still have the heart to throw Andy a birthday party?"