In Their Shadow: The Daughter They Forgot Chapter 06

In Their Shadow: The Daughter They Forgot Chapter 06

My new Reddit account became my safe place.

I wrote now and then about the pain of being overlooked and the moments no one remembered.

One day, I posted a single line.

[In that house, all the joy belonged to them. I was just another piece of furniture in the corner, left

to watch.]

When I woke the next morning, Reddit notifications had nearly buried my phone.

The post had tens of thousands of upvotes.

Thousands of people commented that they’d felt the same way.

One reply after another filled the thread.

[I thought I was the only one.]

[Why is the child everyone ignores always accused of being ‘too sensitive’?]

[Thank you for putting this into words. I never realized that was a kind of abuse too.]

I almost cried.

Not because I’d gone viral, but because I finally knew I wasn’t alone. So many people had been forgotten in corners, yet were still fighting to live.

That realization made me write with greater care.

I created a Facebook page under a pen name and began posting full-length essays.

By spring, most of the snow around Cascadia had finally melted.

A neglected patch of ground lay behind Briony’s faculty cottage.

I spent a weekend clearing it, then built two raised garden beds from scrap lumber.

Briony watched from the steps with her arms crossed.

“You know how to grow vegetables?”

I shook my head and smiled at her. “No. Will you teach me?”

She snorted and walked away.

When she returned, she had several packets of seeds.

Cherry tomatoes, zucchini, kale, rosemary, and thyme.

A note was tucked beneath them.

[Try not to kill them. -B.M.]

I couldn’t help laughing.

Our vegetables thrived that summer.

Briony complained that I’d taken over half her yard.

Yet when we picked the first ripe tomatoes, she tossed a generous handful of our herbs into the beef

stew that night.

At the same time, my Facebook following exploded.

Every post drew tens of thousands of shares and comments.

My DMs went from a handful to dozens, then hundreds, then thousands.

Then one day, Mom called.

It was the first time she’d reached out since I left Greyhaven.

The moment I answered, her shrill voice cut through the phone.

“Tamsin! Did you really have to put our family business all over the internet?

“How long are you going to hold on to a few little things?

“Now everyone thinks you’re writing about the Dacres. Happy?”

I answered calmly.

“I never named anyone. I wrote about my own experience.

“If you see yourself in every post,

“that’s your problem, not mine.”

The other end went silent.

I added, “If you’re so sure you did nothing wrong, why do you sound so guilty?”

She had no answer.

At last, her anger erupted.

“You’re sick in the head! If I’d known you’d turn out like this, I never would’ve had you!”

A year earlier, I probably would have cried.

Now, I simply moved the phone away from my ear.

“At least we agree on one thing. I wish you hadn’t.”

I hung up.

Another six months passed.

By then, the raised beds were flourishing under my care.

I added flowers and greenery along the wall until the entire little yard looked different.

Briony and I grew closer too.

She still rarely smiled at me, but whenever my shift ran late, she left the porch light on.

Dinner would be waiting on the stove, sometimes a bowl of chili, sometimes half a shepherd’s pie.

I brought her things too.

A cashmere scarf. Snow boots. Insulated gloves.

Every time, she frowned and complained, “You young people don’t know how to save. Always wasting money!”

But I never missed the red around her eyes.

By the second spring, my Facebook page had more than ten million followers.

Once, no one at the Greyhaven Pack House would listen to me. Now I became the family and relationship creator with millions followers.

One of the country’s biggest podcasts invited me on for an interview.

I accepted.

On the show, I spoke about the damage people carried from their childhood homes.

Why children who were ignored for years grew into people-pleasers.

Why “we’re family” couldn’t erase every hurt.

For werewolves, a pack meant belonging. It did not mean enduring endless abuse from blood

relatives.

At the end, the host asked, “Did all of this come from your own family?”

I only smiled. I never mentioned what had happened to me.

“Some wounds I write about to understand myself.

“But I won’t sell them for clicks.”

The night the episode aired, Mirelle called me.