Mom’s Bias: She Chose My Sister Over Me

Abusive Parents

A few days later, Leila was discharged, all thanks to her family's meticulous care. My mother was helping her pack things up, while my father was already waiting outside the hospital in his car. He didn't want her to walk even one step more than necessary. Harold even helped her put on her shoes. He didn't want her tiring herself out.

On their way back, my mother grumbled, "I can't believe Sheila didn't even show up. Her own sister is getting discharged. And she didn't even apologize! I'm going to give her a piece of my mind when we get home!"

My father looked at her. "Told you keeping her around would be bad for us."

My mother wanted to give me a piece of her mind? Honestly, that brought back a lot of memories. Since we were kids, my mother had always expected me to bend over backwards for Leila. That girl was her golden child.

The reason? She was born early, and it was my fault, apparently, since I knocked over a glass of water and my mother slipped and fell. Leila had to be put in an incubator, and it broke my family's heart.

My father slapped me so hard, my eardrums popped. "You're a curse on our family! You almost killed your sister, and she just came to this world!"

My mother was in bed, but she opened her eyes weakly, and there was only disappointment in her gaze.

When we were in elementary school, I fought Leila over a doll, and my father beat me up so hard, I couldn't get out of bed for days. That doll was my favorite toy. Yes, it was something my father bought as an afterthought after he got Leila her gift, but I treasured it anyway.

Halfway through our fight, Leila suddenly screamed and cried her heart out. My mother quickly hugged her. Through her tears, she roared, "Your sister went through hell because of you, girl! What more do you want from her?"

"I didn't—"

Before I could even finish, Leila started shedding tears—fake ones, of course—and sobbed, "It's alright, Mom. I shouldn't have fought Sheila over a toy."

My father got back home, and he grabbed me like I was a chick and smacked me around like a ragdoll. "You're a cold-blooded snake. I should throw you out right now! You're going to ruin us sooner or later!"

I was bawling my eyes out, begging for my father to stop, but that only made him think I was putting on an act.

The abuse got worse, naturally. My mother and Harold only watched it go on. They didn't even want to help. Maybe they wanted my father to kill me. Maybe they hated my guts.

From that day onward, every time I made Leila cry, my parents would yell at me and then put their hands on me. Eventually, I would stop trying to take away any love they had for Leila or hoping they would have eyes on me.

I never tried to explain myself, nor did I try to get close to them. And now, they left me behind in a freezing operating theater.