Mom Could Remember One Daughter Each Month, but Always Chose My Sister Chapter 02

Mom Could Remember One Daughter Each Month, but Always Chose My Sister Chapter 02

The next day, I went home to pick up the old camcorder Dad had left behind.

The moment my hand touched the cabinet door, Mom shoved me away.

“Put that down!”

My back hit the corner of the table, and I doubled over, unable to straighten for a long time.

Mom was protecting the camcorder with both arms.

“This belonged to my husband. What right does an outsider have to touch it?”

A yellowed note was taped to the camcorder.

It was written in Dad’s handwriting.

“For Nora. Watch this on her wedding day.”

Before he died, Dad had recorded a wedding message for each of us.

Sophie had already watched hers when she got married.

I had waited seven years for mine.

“My name is written right there.”

Mom looked at me coldly.

“Lots of people have the same name. Yesterday you lied about the bangle, and today you’re trying to steal a family keepsake?”

Sophie came downstairs. Her eyes lit up when she saw the camcorder.

“My anniversary video is missing childhood footage. Could I borrow it for the night?”

I pressed a hand over the camcorder.

“No.”

“You’ve already watched the message Dad made for you. This one is mine.”

Sophie’s eyes instantly filled with tears.

“I just miss Dad. Does he belong only to you?”

Mom immediately stepped in front of her.

“Sophie is his own daughter. What’s wrong with her watching a video of her own father?”

My throat tightened.

“What about me?”

Mom looked at me like I was a complete stranger.

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know you at all.”

I could give up the bangle.

Mom didn’t have to come to my wedding.

But this was the last thing Dad had left for me.

I couldn’t let her take that, too.

I reached for the camcorder, but Mom grabbed my wrist.

Sophie took the memory card from it and slipped it into the computer.

When a prompt appeared on the screen, she clicked Confirm without reading it.

I lunged forward, but could only watch as the formatting bar crawled to the end.

The folder emptied in an instant.

Sophie’s face went pale.

“I thought it was asking me to confirm the import. I didn’t mean to do it.”

I grabbed her.

“That was Dad’s last message to me!”

Mom shoved me away.

“Enough!”

“Sophie apologized. What? You want to hit her now?”

“It was only a video. How could it matter this much?”

When Ethan arrived, he hadn’t even put on a coat.

He took the memory card, his forehead damp with sweat.

“Don’t panic. I know someone who does data recovery.”

“If we take it over now, we might be able to get the files back.”

Mom pointed at him and shouted:

“You again, you worthless hired help.”

“You couldn’t steal the bangle yesterday, so now you’re here to steal a family keepsake?”

Ethan’s face went pale, but he still explained as calmly as he could.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“I just want to help Nora recover her father’s video.”

In front of him, Mom threw the memory card onto the floor.

“Get out.”

Ethan crouched to pick it up.

Mom planted her foot beside his hand.

Neighbors poked their heads out into the hallway to watch.

He crouched there like a thief who had been caught in the act.

But he didn’t argue. He picked up the card and blocked me from the neighbors’ view.

“Nora, let’s go.”

Three hours later, the technician managed to recover only a few seconds of footage.

Dad was lying in a hospital bed, so thin he barely looked like himself, but he still smiled at the camera.

“Nora, Daddy’s little…”

The screen suddenly went black.

All that remained was a harsh hiss of static.

I had waited seven years.

In the end, I got half a sentence.

When I went home again, Mom was using the same camcorder to record a message for Sophie.

“Happy first anniversary to Mom’s baby girl, Sophie.”

“I hope you and Logan grow old together and have a child of your own soon.”

Sophie complained that the lighting had been bad the first time, so Mom recorded it again.

Sophie didn’t like her smile in the second take, so Mom recorded a third.

Mom could rerecord every blessing she gave Sophie, but I would never hear the rest of the words Dad had tried to give me.

Just then, my treating neurologist called.

“Ms. Bennett, are you choosing Sophie Bennett as your emotional memory anchor again next month?”

Without thinking, I handed the phone to Mom.

She was fixing Sophie’s hair and didn’t even look at me.

“Sophie.”

“I only want to remember her.”

I ended the call, left the family care team chat, and canceled Mom’s follow-up appointment for the next month.

If she only wanted one daughter.

Then the rest of her life could belong to Sophie.