My Indifferent Mother
Chapter 1
My mom, Dr. Sarah Miller, wasn’t from around here.
Her mission was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, but then she accidentally got pregnant with me.
After my dad died in a car crash, she remarried, taking me with her.
But the marriage wasn’t happy, and she’d lash out at me, screaming, “If it weren’t for you, your father wouldn’t be dead, and I wouldn’t be so miserable!”
“Why couldn’t it have been you!”
She blamed me for everything that went wrong in her life.
I thought she didn’t love me, but after I died, she lost it.
1
Mom stumbled out of the OR, exhausted, and sank into a chair.
A young nurse, seeing her distress, offered comfort: “Dr. Miller, you can’t blame yourself. He was practically gone when they brought him in.”
Mom managed a weak smile, assuring the nurse she was fine.
She shrugged off her white coat and headed home, only to find the house dark and empty.
Her already pale face darkened. “That brat. Skipping school again, who knows where she’s gotten to.”
She didn’t know I was dead.
The patient she couldn’t save was me.
I’d been jumped in an alley. They muffled my screams, stole my phone, carved bloody lines across my face, ripped off my clothes, and treated me like a toy.
Then they dumped me in the river. A passerby pulled me out and called 911, but it was too late.
My face was mangled, and I’d been in the water for a while. She didn’t recognize me.
But before I died, I heard her faint sobs. She was grieving for the loss of a life.
If she’d known it was me, she wouldn’t have shed a tear. She probably would have been relieved.
My spirit didn’t move on. It stayed with her.
I was seventeen. My eighteenth birthday was two days away. I wouldn’t make it.
Mom flipped on the lights, and Mrs. Davis, our housekeeper, came out. “Mrs. Miller, you’re home.”
She looked past Mom, not seeing who she expected.
“Isn’t Miss Emily with you?”
Mom scoffed. “When is she ever with me? Probably off with some boy somewhere.”
“That shameless girl doesn’t deserve to be called my daughter.”
Mrs. Davis’s face showed disbelief. No mother should talk about her daughter like that.
But mine did.
She hated me. She always had.
2
My mom came from another dimension.
After completing her assignment, she was ready to leave, but then she discovered she was pregnant.
She was stuck.
She wanted an abortion, but my dad swore he’d love us both forever. She wavered.
My birth was difficult. Mom was in labor for hours, waiting for my dad.
But it was pouring rain, and his car skidded off the road. He died instantly.
The shock sent Mom into a coma. They had to do an emergency C-section.
My birthday was also the anniversary of his death.
“You’re a jinx! If it weren’t for you, David would still be alive!”
They said when she woke up, she tried to strangle me, her eyes bloodshot, her fingers tightening around my infant throat.
If Mr. Jones hadn’t stopped her, I would have died then and there.
Mr. Jones, my stepfather, had always been in love with my mom.
“Don’t grieve. I’m here now. I won’t leave you. Trust me.”
Mr. Jones convinced her, and she married him, bringing me along.
Mom checked her phone. Several missed calls, all during the surgery.
She called back, but no one answered.
The number looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
It was my number. I hadn’t called her in years.
3
Mom stared at her phone until the front door clicked open.
She turned to see Mr. Jones.
“It’s good you’re home.”
He was nearing forty but looked younger, not a gray hair in sight, sharp in his dark suit and rimless glasses.
He was at the prime of his life.
Mom, in comparison, looked worn down. No one would have guessed they were married.
Mr. Jones pulled divorce papers from his briefcase and slid them across the table.
“Sarah, sign these. It’s for the best. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
“Divorce, divorce, divorce! Is that all you ever talk about? Every time you come home, it’s the same thing. Aren’t you tired of it?”
Mom slammed her hand on the papers, her eyes boring into the words.
She ripped them to shreds, flinging the confetti at him.
“I’m not divorcing you. Even if I die, I’ll still be a Jones. You’ll never be rid of me!”
She was hysterical, her gaze full of hatred and defiance.
“Sarah, is this torture really necessary? I’m offering you more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life. What more do you want?”
Mr. Jones adjusted his glasses. He was always composed, even in the face of her rage.
“Oh, so you can marry your little girlfriend? Nice try. As long as we’re married, she’ll always be the mistress, and her child will be a bastard.”
Mom’s laughter was manic.
Mr. Jones glanced around the empty house.
“Where’s Emily? Her eighteenth birthday is the day after tomorrow. We’ve never celebrated her birthday. Why don’t we make it a big one this year?”
He tried to change the subject.
“That little slut? Who knows where she’s shacked up. She hasn’t been home in days. What, you got a thing for her now?”
“She is pretty. But the prettier they are, the less they care about decency. Just like Emily.”
My name is Emily. Emily Jones. Mom wanted me to remember my dad’s death. Always.
Mr. Jones gave up and left.
4
As far back as I can remember, Mom was never warm.
As a baby, I cried when I was hungry, I cried when I was wet.
She’d just stare. “Babies are such a hassle.”
When I was too weak to cry anymore, she’d change me, shoving a scalding hot bottle in my mouth.
My face would turn red, and I’d struggle. She’d smack my back. “Stop fussing. I’ll just let you starve if you keep it up.”
I was only a few months old, and I ended up in the hospital for weeks.
The doctor gave Mom a strange look. “Formula should be mixed with lukewarm water.”
Mom just snapped, “I know. I’m a doctor myself.”
She knew. She just didn’t care. She wanted me gone.
After I was discharged, Mrs. Davis took pity on me and took over my care.
I somehow made it to kindergarten.
Mom looked at me like I was her enemy. I could feel the tension whenever I was near her.
“Mommy, do you not like me? Did I do something wrong? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”
Kids are simple. It took me days to work up the courage to ask.
Mom glanced at me. Mr. Jones was there, so she put on an act. “Of course I love you. You’re my daughter.”
I was happy for the rest of the day. That night, she came to my room and closed the door.
I rubbed my eyes sleepily. “Mommy, are you going to tell me a story?”
Other moms told their daughters bedtime stories.
5
Mom’s face was tight. She yanked me from the bed and slapped me hard.
“What did you mean by that question earlier? Saying that in front of John. What was I supposed to think?”
“So young and already playing games. I need to teach you a lesson.”
She hit me hard, both cheeks swelling.
I cried and begged, “Mommy, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please stop hitting me…”
She seemed to enjoy my pain. Her eyes lit up.
From then on, whenever she was upset, she’d take it out on me. The first time, Mr. Jones told her off.
The second time, she pinched my back and thighs where no one could see.
Leaving dark purple bruises.
As I got older, I learned about Mom’s two faces. One for when Mr. Jones was around, and one for when he wasn’t.
I had to play along with our little mother-daughter charade.
I once cried to Mrs. Davis, “I wish you were my mom. I don’t like my mom…”
“Mrs. Davis, you’re so kind. I like you…”
Mom overheard. Another beating.
She glared at Mrs. Davis, shielding me, and pointed at her. “Oh, you like her, do you? Then go live with her! See if she wants you.”
“All these years I’ve fed you, clothed you, and for what? An ungrateful brat! Get out! Both of you!”
Mrs. Davis let go of me and stood behind Mom. “Mrs. Miller, it’s not like that. Emily just misspoke. Please don’t make me leave.”
Her head bowed low, she wouldn’t look at me.
I felt utterly abandoned. The world went silent. I was adrift in a strange void, no ground below, no sky above.
Just endless nothingness.
When I came to, Mom was looking at me with amusement.
“No one’s on your side, Emily. Give it up.”
She tugged hard on my braid, the one Mrs. Davis had carefully woven that morning. It came undone, the rubber band falling to the floor. I stared at it, tears welling up.
Back in my room, I grabbed scissors and hacked away at my hair.
The long hair everyone admired was now a choppy mess.
I decided I wouldn’t let Mrs. Davis braid my hair anymore.
6
It was just another day for Mom.
The next morning, she went to work.
The young nurse scrolled through her phone, shaking her head. “That poor girl. The cops and the ME were here this morning, and they still haven’t identified her.”
“Her body’s still in the morgue.” She looked up and saw Mom. “Morning, Dr. Miller.”
Mom happened to glance at the photo on the nurse’s phone. The photo of my mangled body.
She didn’t recognize me, but she felt a pang of sadness. Another life she couldn’t save.
“Did they catch whoever did it?” Mom asked casually.
The nurse was always up for gossip. “Nope. That alley where they dumped her is in the worst part of town. No cameras.”
“And the cops haven’t gotten any missing person reports. What kind of parents don’t report their daughter missing?” The nurse was indignant.
“The ME said she was only a teenager. Such a waste.”
Mom agreed. Her eyes flickered, a thought crossing her mind.
But she quickly dismissed it with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Dr. Miller, I thought you had a daughter too? Haven’t seen her around lately.”
I braced myself for another one of Mom’s tirades, but she plastered on a cheerful smile.
“Oh, she’s busy studying for her finals. You know how she is about her grades. She might even be our state’s valedictorian.”
I was stunned. How could she be so two-faced?
I wanted to ask her, Mom, do you even love me?
