Chapter 4 I Haven't Had Parents for Five Years

On the day of my surgery, I went to the hospital with my roommate, Josephine Lancaster.

She said our counselor, Charles Pembroke, would come over after he finished submitting the paperwork.

That eased some of my nerves.

And my parents really did come.

"Nervous? It's definitely going to hurt. Are you sure you don't want to think it over?"

…

After I changed into a hospital gown, my mother fastened the last button for me. "When you were little and had to stay in the hospital, I was the one who changed your clothes."

"I never stayed in the hospital when I was little."

She paused. "I must have remembered wrong."

It was not hard to guess who she had confused me with.

My father pulled out Lillian's payment slip. "If we cancel now, we can still get most of the money back. Lillian will need rehabilitation after surgery, and it would be best if she had a private room."

"I'll need rehabilitation after my surgery, too."

"You have your school and your classmates to help you."

That was when I finally understood.

They hadn't accepted my decision to have surgery. They had only come to pressure me into getting a refund at the last possible moment.

My mother wrapped her arms around me. "You're both my daughters. Can't you give in to your little sister one more time?"

"I've been giving in for five years."

My father was already losing patience. "Lillian is only five. Your hand can wait a few more months. It's not going to kill you."

I looked at him, and suddenly, the tears came.

I did not just blink back tears or lower my head and try to hold them in.

My shoulders shook as I sobbed, and I could not get out a single complete sentence. "When I was thirteen, I was scared it would hurt, too. When I slept with my hand clamped between two pieces of wood, I wanted you to come home, too.

"Why was Grandpa's illness life-threatening, and Lillian couldn't be allowed to have a scar, but my hand was the one thing you could keep putting off?"

My mother reached out to wipe my tears. "Abigail, this isn't the time to dredge up the past. Lillian is still little. She can't handle this."

"I can't handle it either."

It was the first time I had admitted it in front of them.

"It's not that I could take it. I cried, too. You just weren't there to see it."

The cuff of my hospital gown was soon soaked through.

I wiped away my tears clumsily with my left hand, while my right could only hang stiffly at my side.

The door opened.

Lillian came in, clutching her stuffed animal. "Abigail, if you don't have surgery, it won't hurt, right?"

"No."

"But Mom said that if you gave the money to me, you'd be the good girl."

My mother pulled her behind her. "Abigail, don't take your anger out on your sister."

"I'm not angry at her."

She had not done anything wrong.

She was simply born after I left and got to experience, in my place, what it felt like to be loved by our parents.

A nurse came to tell me it was time to prepare for surgery.

My father stepped in front of me. "Take out your phone and transfer the rest of the money in front of us."

"I'm not transferring it."

My mother began to cry. "I gave birth to you and raised you for eighteen years, and now you won't even help your own sister over money. Are you really trying to kill me?"

"If I don't have the surgery, will you buy me a doll?"

She did not understand. "What?"

"Never mind."

My father gave me his ultimatum. "If you walk into that operating room today, don't ever call us your parents again. And when your grandpa dies, don't expect us to help you."

The truth was, I was afraid.

Afraid the surgery would fail. Afraid I would wake up and no one would be waiting for me. Afraid my grandfather really would leave us. Afraid I would never have parents again.

But if I gave in one more time, I might never be able to use my right hand properly for the rest of my life.

"Then, write it down."

My mother didn't understand. "Write what?"

"Cutting ties. You said you don't recognize me as your daughter anymore, so write it down and sign it. Don't wait until I come out and tell me we're family again, because family doesn't hold grudges."

"You think you can scare us with this?"

"I'm not trying to scare you."

I asked a nurse for a sheet of paper and a pen.

My father wrote three lines, essentially stating that I had disregarded family ties and insisted on wasting the family's money, and that from that day forward, I was cutting ties with my parents.

He signed his name—Nathaniel Rothwell. My mother signed hers—Caroline Beaumont.

When it was my turn, I held the pen in my left hand and signed for the freedom of my right.

…

When Josephine arrived, she took my coat. "I'll wait outside for you. Mr. Pembroke will be here soon, too."

My grandfather sent me a voice message. "Go in. Don't look back."

I handed my phone to Josephine.

The operating room doors slowly opened. My mother was still talking. "Abigail, once you go in there, you really won't have parents anymore."

"Today, I'm just putting it in writing."

I stepped into the operating room. As the doors began to close, I smiled and shook my head at them. "I haven't had parents for five years."