In Their Shadow: The Daughter They Forgot Chapter 09

In Their Shadow: The Daughter They Forgot Chapter 09

Later, Dad posted a statement on his verified Facebook page.

He claimed the family was close and that my writing was just part of an online persona.

The claim fell apart almost at once. He couldn’t produce a single family photo that included me.

And that wasn’t all.

My middle school classmates discovered the story online.

They flooded the comments with stunned questions.

[Wait, Tamsin really is Leander Dacre’s sister? Then why wouldn’t he even give her one autograph?]

[Exactly. We thought she was lying and made fun of her for years!]

Leander’s account was overrun.

Corwin’s classmates spoke up too.

[So she wasn’t the driver’s daughter?]

[At an awards ceremony, Corwin said she was the maid. She was his sister this whole time?]

The comment section exploded.

One buried clue after another resurfaced until they formed an inescapable web.

All the family’s polished PR statements crumbled against it.

The backlash raged for two full weeks.

Then something strange happened.

They finally sat down and read my posts.

I never knew which ones they saw. Maybe they read them all.

Mirelle reached out first with a long DM.

She said she’d been too young to understand how deeply her words could hurt.

She said she’d read every piece I’d posted on Reddit and Facebook and cried all night.

At the end, she told me her nineteenth birthday was coming up.

[Tamsin, I really want you there this time. I’ve saved you the seat beside me.]

I replied: [No. You only invite family to your birthday parties. I’m not family.]

Leander sent me a package too.

Inside was a stack of autographed photos. Each one was signed, ‘To Tamsin.’

A note was tucked in with them: [I was wrong. I’m sorry. -Leander]

As I studied the photos, I remembered years of ridicule from my classmates. I remembered the one

on his desk addressed ‘To Milo.’

After all those years, I had finally earned the same treatment as someone else’s dog.

I put the photos in the bottom drawer and never opened it again.

Corwin sent an email worded with the precision of an SCI research paper.

Across three full pages, he analyzed his past behavior and admitted he’d ignored my feelings for

years.

At the end, he formally invited me to his research presentation the next month, asking me to sit in

the front row as family.

I sent one line back: [I’m just a driver’s daughter. I wouldn’t want to take anyone’s seat.]

Mom began calling me every day.

The orders were gone. Now she spoke carefully, asking if I’d eaten and whether I was dressing

warmly enough,

She even offered to buy me a house nearby them. “That way, we’ll be there if you need anything,”

she said.

Dad would chime in beside her, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. “Tamsin, I was wrong.

You’re a good kid. I know that now.”

I listened without arguing. But the wound they’d left in me had long since scarred over.

There was no pain anymore. No warmth, either.

I turned them all down.

Not because I still hated them, but because I understood them too well.

They weren’t truly sorry. They were afraid of losing their spotless image.

Getting me back was the cheapest way to repair it.

They didn’t even have to change. I only had to nod and say, “It’s all behind us,” and everything could disappear.

But I would never sacrifice myself again.