Leaving My Life in an Intern's Hands

There was a reason why Mom favored Sean.

When we were young, she smacked Sean twice because he finished an entire jar of candy. The next day, she took us out, and while we were waiting at the traffic light, Sean pushed her onto the busy road out of resentment.

He didn't use much force, but Mom's guard was down. And just like that, she stumbled onto the road.

The moment she hit the ground, a car sped past and broke her hand.

When she glanced back at us, my arms were still outstretched—I had been trying to save her. But she assumed I was the devil's spawn, trying to end her life, the one responsible for ruining her bright future.

The real culprit, however, stood there crying and gained all of Mom's sympathy. She thought Sean was worried about her, but she had no idea the one who ruined her career was her favorite son.

Fortunately, Mom wasn't in danger. Her hand eventually recovered after the surgery, but as a cardiac surgeon, she could no longer perform operations.

The hospital director where she worked happened to retire around that time, so he offered her his position.

But her dream was to become a world-renowned cardiac surgeon. How could she settle for being just the director of a public hospital at such a young age?

Since then, Mom had been depressed. Her mood became unpredictable, and she would smash anything in sight during her tantrums—pots, pans, the fridge, even the television couldn't escape her wrath.

Dad tried to comfort her, but his efforts were in vain. Sometimes, she even hurt him physically. His face was always marred with scratches he'd gotten trying to calm her rages.

At first, he thought that if he were patient enough, he could eventually help her find her way back.

But one day, when she flew into another rage, she picked up a knife and slashed his wrist. He nearly lost his life, and that was the last straw.

Even Dad, who was known for his good temper, lost it. He filed for divorce against Mom and walked out on us, leaving Sean and me with her.

From then on, Mom had to juggle work and raising us. Life was hard for her.

And after Dad left, she resented me even more. She blamed me for ruining the bright, enviable future she once had.

She used to say I looked just like him—but there was no affection in her gaze, only growing disdain.

Sean, however, became her only source of strength.

She always said if it weren't for him, she wouldn't know how long she would struggle with depression. To her, he was like her savior who brought light back into her life.

But what Mom never knew was that after Dad left, I was the one who cooked all our meals after school. I knew she hated me, so I always had Sean call her to dinner.

I was the one who always kept the house clean. I also did the laundry, standing on a stool to hang the clothes out to dry. And with the money I'd saved up over the years since I was young, I bought her Mother's Day gifts, surprise presents, and always made sure her vases were filled with fresh flowers.

But she credited it all to Sean, and it was simply because I wasn't good with words.

I once tried to explain what really happened during the accident, but every single time, she'd cut me off and tell me off for trying to gain sympathy and falsely accusing Sean.

After a few attempts, she decided I was just being defiant and gave me a harsh beating, intending to teach me a lesson.

Since then, I stopped trying to explain myself.

Sean, of course, noticed how much Mom favored him. So he played the part perfectly—clinging to her like a sweet, considerate child while quietly badmouthing me behind my back.

And I'd received beatings more than once because of that.