Favored the Adopted, Lost the Real: A Mother's Remorse

My body was discovered on a remote mountain.

By then, I had been dead for a week. Due to the sweltering summer heat, my corpse was already decomposing. The stench was absolutely horrendous.

The morning jogger who had stumbled upon me couldn't stop vomiting, his face deathly pale. With shaking hands, he called the police to report his finding.

Mom was at Winona Langdon's birthday party when she was pulled away by an emergency call. She had no choice but to rush to the crime scene.

As a forensic doctor, she had seen her fair share of horrifying scenes over the years. Even so, she couldn't help but frown when she saw my mutilated corpse; for a brief second, a hint of genuine anguish flashed in her eyes.

Prolonged exposure and decomposition had caused the body to bloat grotesquely. The face was smashed to a bloody pulp. Bones peeked out here and there, stabbed through the skin of the naked form.

Putting on a pair of gloves, Mom began her preliminary examination of the body, sticky with rot. A while later, she removed a bracelet wrapped around my ankle.

I watched her anxiously. That bracelet had been a gift from Grandma before I died, and today happened to be my birthday.

In truth, my birthday was only one day after Winona's, yet Mom and Dad never remembered. Every year, they threw a grand party for Winona. Afterward, Mom would head to work, not returning until late.

One birthday, Grandma specifically made that bracelet for me, even carving my name on the paw-shaped pendant. When Winona saw it, she pretended to be jealous and called to tell Mom about it.

That night, Mom rushed home and tore into me. "How can you be jealous of your sister? Just because I threw her a party, you poisoned your grandmother against Winona? How could you be so malicious?"

Glaring, she continued, "Samantha Langdon, stop your scheming. So what if you're biologically mine? Winnie has been with us for 20 years. She is far more important to us than you. You're nothing but an ungrateful wretch!"

With that, she yanked the bracelet from my wrist and, with a final mocking look, tossed it out the window.

I distinctly remembered searching through the bush for hours, tears streaming, until I finally found it in a ditch.

I was sure Mom would remember this bracelet. Yet her expression was blank as she placed it in an evidence bag.

Seeing that, I sighed. I wasn't sad, just feeling rather helpless. After all, she didn't love me. Why would she remember anything about me?

Dad and Mom were always busy with work. When I was still very young, they left me with Grandma in a rural village. Seeing other children with their parents, I dreamed they would come back for me one day.

The age of compulsory schooling in my country was nine. Grandma told me my parents were coming to take me back for my education.

To say I was excited when I heard that was an understatement.

However, on the way to the village, Dad encountered robbers and was killed. At his funeral, Mom was beside herself, crying so hard she gasped for breath, her grief a raw, open wound.