Mom Could Remember One Daughter Each Month, but Always Chose My Sister Chapter 08

Mom Could Remember One Daughter Each Month, but Always Chose My Sister Chapter 08

When Mom reached Portland, rain was falling hard.

A soaked cardboard box sat outside the neighborhood entrance.

Inside, a little kitten huddled with one injured hind leg.

It kept trying to crawl out. Its paws were raw, and the edge of the box was streaked with blood.

Mom stood in the rain without moving for a long time.

The night Waffles was abandoned had looked exactly like this.

In the end, she picked up the kitten and took it to an animal hospital.

The vet said its leg could be treated, but it would need complete rest.

Mom paid the bill and carried the box to the Reed house.

The gate stood half open.

She spotted me right away.

I was sitting in the entryway.

Linda was crouched in front of me, drying the wet cuffs of my pants with a towel.

“I told you to bring an umbrella, but you never listen.”

“Your hands are freezing, and you’re still saying you’re fine.”

She tucked a heating pad into my arms, then reached up to feel my forehead.

I gave her a helpless look.

“Mom, I’m really not cold.”

Someone answered from outside the gate.

“There you are.”

I looked up.

Margaret was standing in the rain.

The smile on her face faltered when she saw me clinging to Linda.

She thought I had called her Mom.

But I hadn’t looked at her once.

Ethan came to stand beside me.

“How did you find us?”

Mom didn’t answer.

She only stared at me.

“Nora.”

It was the first time in twenty years that she had said my name correctly without anyone reminding her.

I had waited for that moment countless times.

But when I finally heard it, I felt nothing but peace.

Mom took the repaired wooden sign from her bag.

“I had someone put it back together.”

The broken pieces had been glued back into place.

The missing N had been replaced, too.

But the old and new wood were different colors.

No matter how carefully they tried to hide it, the crack still showed.

I reached for the sign.

It was the last thing Dad had left me.

Mom’s eyes brightened when she saw me accept it.

Then she took out the bangle.

“I’ll give this back to you, too.”

I didn’t take it.

Her hand stopped in midair.

“Your grandmother left it for you.”

“I know.”

I lowered my eyes to the bangle.

“But Sophie has already worn it.”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

Mom’s hand shook violently.

The bangle fell into a puddle and rolled to my feet.

She hurried to pick it up.

The kitten suddenly cried out from the box.

Mom seemed to latch onto one last chance and pushed the box toward me.

“Its leg can be treated.”

“The vet said it wouldn’t die.”

The soaked cardboard box filled my vision.

My breath stopped.

My hands began to shake.

Ethan stepped in front of the box.

Linda pulled me against her and patted my back again and again.

“Don’t look.”

I gripped her sleeve.

For a long time, I couldn’t stop shaking.

Mom stood several steps away, trying to come closer.

Linda raised a hand to stop her.

“Don’t touch her.”

Mom’s hand stopped in midair.

“Nora, I wasn’t trying to replace Waffles with this kitten.”

“I was only trying to save it.”

I looked up at her.

“Then why did you bring it here?”

She had no answer.

Because the kitten had never been what she truly wanted to save.

She only wanted to use it to prove that she’d finally begun to regret what she’d done.

Linda took the box, called the animal hospital to continue the kitten’s treatment, and asked a friend to find it

a suitable home.

Once everything was arranged, she stepped in front of me again.

“Someone will take care of the kitten.”

“And Nora has people who love her.”

“You should go home.”

Mom’s eyes instantly turned red.

She looked past Linda at me.

“Nora, come home with me.”

A laugh escaped me.

“Didn’t you turn my room into a nursery?”

“Where would I sleep if I went back?”

The last bit of color drained from Mom’s face.

Linda draped a coat over my shoulders.

“Don’t stand in the wind. Come inside.”

I looped my arm through hers.

“Okay, Mom.”

Mom instinctively looked up.

But the person I leaned against wasn’t her.

She had finally remembered me.

But the place beside me, the place meant for a mother, was already occupied by someone else.

At the door, I stopped.

“Did you really not recognize me on my wedding day?”

Mom avoided my eyes.

“If you were truly having an episode, how did you know the address of the venue?”

She was silent for a long time before finally admitting in a low voice:

“I remembered you that day.”

She hadn’t forgotten my wedding.

She had known I was her daughter and still chosen to destroy it.