The Daughter She Threw Away

For as long as I can remember, my parents have been divorced.

Grandpa Adams and Grandma Chavez drilled a single, venomous truth into me since childhood: Mom was a villain. An ingrate. She didn't want me. She didn't deserve to be called mother.

I never believed them. I knew how hard her life had been. I remembered.

The next time I saw her was at Danny Abbott's parent-teacher conference.

I sat there, a child pretending to be an adult, feeling dozens of eyes sizing me up.

"Where is your father?" the teacher asked, frowning.

"He broke his leg," I said quietly.

"And your mother?"

My heart slammed against my ribs. From the corner of my eye, I saw the elegant woman in the front rowknown to everyone for her generosityduck her head. She shrank into her seat, terrified I might point at her.

"You don't have a mom, do you?" the teacher pressed.

A figure shot up from a nearby desk. "Teacher, watch your words! How can you speak to a child like that?"

My head snapped up.

Surprise hit firstsomeone was defending me. Then came the crushing disappointment.

It wasn't her.

The teacher forced a smile. "Mrs. Miller, please, I didn't mean anything by it."

A boy at the doorway snickered. "Teacher, they don't have a mom! Her mom threw her away ages ago."

I pulled out Danny's textbook and stared at the pages. Pretending not to hear. Pretending not to care. The laughter buzzed in my ears like flies.

The words blurred. I couldn't read a single line.

After the divorce, Dad adopted a boyDanny Abbott. He claimed the family line couldn't be broken, and Danny was the priority. He had to go to school. So I became the adult. I learned to cook, clean, scrubmimicking everything Mom used to do.

In my memories, Mom was always disheveled. She'd strap me to her back while cooking, muttering curses at my father, asking the empty air why he wasn't dead yet.

I hadn't seen her in six years. The woman sitting a few rows away was a stranger.

She was beautiful now. Smooth skin, expensive clothes, pleasant expression. She smiled and greeted everyone with grace.

Everyone except me.

I waited until the meeting ended and the parents filtered out. The classroom emptied, leaving only silence between us.

Terrified of causing her trouble, I grabbed Danny's schoolbag and turned to flee.

"Camila Acevedo."

The voice stopped me dead.

I stood frozen, legs trembling.

I'd directed this scene in my head a thousand times. I'd watched how other children greeted their mothers and imagined we'd be the same. She would rush over. She would call me Cami, or Little Camila. Maybe even Baby.

But she called me "Camila Acevedo." Full name. Cold. Distant.

"This is your brother."

I turned slowly.

A boy stood beside herfair-skinned, well-dressed, undeniably cute. She had a new family. A new son.

Nothing like my rehearsals. The air between us was stiff, unfamiliar.

I looked at Alex. Big, bright eyes, just like hers. I wanted to like him. He looked innocent enough. But a dull ache settled behind my ribs, pressing on my lungs.

There was no reason for the pain. It was just there.

"Did your father cut your hair?" she asked, glancing at my uneven, choppy locks.

My hands went to my sleeves. I gripped the fraying cuffs, trying to hide Danny's dirty schoolbag behind my back. I touched the jagged ends of my hair.

"It gets in the way of my chores," I whispered. "I cut it myself."

My mind was a mess of longing and shame. I looked at her, desperate for connection. "If I grow it out long... do you think I'd look a little better?"

Silence stretched between us.

I looked up. She was staring out the window, as if she hadn't heard me at all.

"Do you have anything else to say?" she finally asked.

Her gaze drifted back to me, cool and detached. I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat.

I had a lifetime of things to say. But she wasn't asking to hear them.

My fingers nervously picked at the frayed threads of the hole in my sleeve.

She lowered her head, checking her watch.

I couldn't watch anymore. I shook my head, turned, and fled the classroom.

The air outside should have felt fresh, liberating even. Instead, it felt heavy. I watched them get into a small car. She held the child in her arms with such tenderness, such care.

It was a sight so unfamiliar to me that it stung.

I hope she's happy, I told myself. I hope her life gets better and better.

"When we get back, don't tell them I saw Mom," I said to Danny.

"Okay," he promised.

But Danny was young and innocent. The moment we crossed the threshold, the secret spilled out.

Crash!

A wine glass shattered at my feet. A pair of chopsticks flew past my ear, striking the wall.

"You useless, ungrateful wretch!" Dad roared, his face flushed with rage.

"Hurry up and tell your father you'll never go looking for that dead woman again!" Grandma Chavez poked my forehead hard with her bony finger. "How many times have I told you? That woman is a tramp. She is not a good person! If she hadn't insisted on divorcing and abandoning us, would our family be in this mess? Living in chaos like animals?"

She wouldn't stop. "If she hadn't dropped everything and run off, you wouldn't have been pulled out of school! She's a selfish creature who only cares about herself. Don't you dare learn her cold-blooded ways!"

Grandpa Adams muttered a curse under his breath, his chopsticks tapping impatiently against his plate. "Enough! Eat!"

She had never held a good reputation in this family.

And neither had I.

After dinner, I knelt to change the dressing on Dad's leg wound. It looked angry, but he barely flinched.

"Dad," I whispered, keeping my eyes on the bandages. "My stomach... it's been hurting a lot lately. Can you take me to the doctor?"

He jerked his leg back. Ignoring me, he turned, climbed onto the bed, and faced the wall.

"My leg isn't even healed yet, and you're complaining about a stomach ache?" His voice was cold, muffled. "If it hurts, endure it."

I picked up the basin of bloody water and walked out.

Once outside, I pressed my hand against my abdomen and pinched hard, trying to distract myself from the gnawing pain inside.

It wasn't just a stomach ache.

It was a battle against cancer.

This was the third time I had tried to tell him.

When I returned to the room I shared with my brother, Danny was curled up in the corner, his eyes red and rimmed with tears.

"Big Sis, I'm sorry," he sniffled. "Did I get you in trouble?"

I swallowed the rising bile and shook my head. I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but my curiosity got the better of me.

"That classmate of yours," I asked softly. "Alex. How is he?"

Danny wiped his nose. "Alex? He can't see out of one eye. His mom comes to school to see him a lot."

I froze. He can't see?

I thought of those beautiful eyes I had seen earlier. One of them was blind?

Heaven really liked to play cruel jokes.

"Have you... have you seen his dad?" I asked.

"No, but I heard he's a really good person."

"Danny," I said, gripping his hand. "Alex and you are close, right? That woman... she's my mother, too."

I took a deep breath. "Can you convince Alex to bring his mom out? Just for a minute? I have something I need to say to her. Please?"

Danny looked fearfully toward the door, checking for Dad or Grandma. Only when the coast was clear did he nod.

"Okay. I'll try. Pick me up after school tomorrow, Big Sis."

"Okay!" I nodded frantically.

That night, the pain was so intense I broke out in a cold sweat.

It was like this every night now. Over the past month, the agony had escalated from a dull ache to razor blades twisting in my gut.

In the living room, Dad and Grandma were still awake. Their voices drifted through the thin walls.

"Damn it," Dad grumbled. "The wages were short this week. I'm not getting the anti-inflammatory shot tomorrow. Take the money and use it for Danny's tuition."

"I see Cami has been crying about her stomach hurting," Grandma said, her tone unusually subdued. "When you go out tomorrow, maybe buy her a few painkillers."

I gripped the corner of my quilt and pulled it over my head, pressing my hands over my ears.

I didn't want to hear anymore.

Early the next morning, Dad returned carrying a small plastic bag of medicine.

I didn't know if he had agreed with Grandma last night, but as he unpacked the bag, I scanned the labels.

There was nothing for me.

I swallowed the disappointment, finished the housework, and collected the wheat drying in the yard. Then I hurried toward Danny's school.

I ran the whole way, my heart hammering against my ribs, my mood a turbulent mix of anxiety and hope.

What should I say? I wondered as the school gates came into view. How do I even say hello?

Before I could force a single word past my lips, our gazes locked across the distance.

She immediately tugged at Alex, signaling him to leave, but the boy dug his heels in.

"Look, Mom! The big sister is here. She wants to see you."

He pulled hard against her grip, dragging her over to me with visible effort.

"Hello. We meet again."

She offered a polite smile, but the warmth didn't reach her eyes. Behind that mask, I saw nothing but displeasure.

But I had no choice. I was sick. Without money, I was going to die.

"You went to such lengths to track me down," she said, her voice low. "What is it?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but she cut me off. "Too many people here. If you have something to say, let's go somewhere private."

She turned on her heel, and I followed fifty meters behind, maintaining the distance she clearly desired. Only when she was sure no one was watching did the tension in her shoulders ease.

One in front, one behind, we slipped into a narrow alley.

Danny and Alex waited at the entrance, guarding our privacy.

"Speak," she commanded. "What is it?"

"Am I an embarrassment to you?"

She lowered her head, her face blank. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat, stripped of any maternal warmth. "It's about avoiding suspicion. I don't want people to misunderstand our relationship."

My fingers twitched, reaching to pinch the frayed hole at my sleeve cuffa nervous tic I'd developed over the years. I pinched at the fabric for a long moment before realizing there was nothing there.

I was wearing the outfit I'd changed into specifically for this morning. The most decent clothes I owned, free of holes and patches.

"I need to go home and cook for Alex," she said, checking her watch.

She turned to leave. Panic surged through me, and I rushed forward. My hand reached out to stop her, but I froze inches from her brand-new fur coat, afraid to tarnish it with my touch.

"Can you give me some money?" The words tumbled out. "I'm sick. I want to"

"I knew it." She scoffed. "I knew you came to ask for money."

"No, please. I've contracted a serious illness. I just"

"Enough!" Her voice rose, heavy with annoyance.

With a sigh, she opened her wallet, grabbed every bill insidea messy handful of cashand thrust it toward me.

Without another word, she hurried away. But after six or seven steps, she stopped.

I looked up, hope fluttering in my chest. Did she care?

"You have to forgive me," she said without turning around. "I want to take you away, truly, but I have no way to do it. Your brother is still little. You're already a sensible child; you understand."

She paused. "Alex's eyes are failing. I'm handling his withdrawal from school to focus on treatment. In the next few years, we probably won't see each other again."

I stood frozen. I couldn't feel my face. It was as if my features had detached themselves from my nerves.

I wanted to smile, to wave and say it was okay, but my hands disobeyed me, clenching into tight fists. The corners of my mouth felt stapled shut.

Their footsteps faded until the alley fell completely silent.

I lowered my head and stared at the money in my handcrisp large bills mixed with crumpled small change. A quick mental calculation confirmed what I already knew. Compared to the astronomical cost of treatment, this was a drop in the ocean.

If nothing unexpected happens, I thought bitterly, she won't need to take the initiative to distance herself. Before long, we wouldn't be able to see each other at all. Not because of her choice, but because I wouldn't be here.

I didn't walk home with Danny.

Instead, I took a bus to the biggest hospital in town. It was my first time in such a massive facility. The lobby ceiling seemed miles high, making me feel incredibly small. Everyone bustling around me was dressed in bright, clean clothes, contrasting sharply with the gray dread settling in my stomach.

A nurse guided me to the examination room. I was so distracted by the sheer scale of the place that, for a moment, I forgot why I was there.

When the results came back, the doctor didn't look at me. He just sighed, over and over again.

"Where is your mother?"

I stayed silent.

He sighed again. "Hurry and have your family bring you in for surgery. It's stomach cancer. Late stage."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

"I'll prescribe you some medicine. Take it twice a day. It will help manage the pain."

He handed me two boxes of pills. He had to repeat the instructions three times before the words penetrated the fog in my brain.

Clutching the medicine, I stumbled out into the corridor.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the sterile air.

"Doctor, is there still no cornea source? My son can't wait much longer. I'm begging you. I'm willing to pay doubletriple!"

"This isn't about money, ma'am. Please, go back and wait for the notification."

Mom walked out of the office, shoulders slumped, wiping tears that wouldn't stop.

I didn't hesitate. I rushed past her and grabbed the doctor's coat.

"Doctor, can I donate?"

He stopped, frowning down at me. "Where did this kid come from? Where are your parents?"

I looked toward the hospital entrance. The weeping figure had already vanished.

Trembling, I handed him my cancer report. "The doctor said if I can't pay for treatment, I'll die anyway. I can donate."

He studied the paper, expression shifting. "Where are your parents?"

I swallowed hard. Then lied.

"I'm an orphan."

When it came time to sign the consent forms, I realized I didn't even know how to write my own name. The nurse guided my hand, teaching me stroke by stroke.

By the time I ran out, Mom was already at the curb, Alex in her arms, about to step into a taxi.

I sprinted up to them. She looked startled.

"If Alex gets better," I panted, looking up at her, "he won't have to miss school anymore. Does that mean... I can see you again?"

She pulled Alex tighter against her chest. At the mention of his condition, a bitter smile touched her lips.

"Maybe."

"He'll get better," I said, voice shaking but firm. "I know he will."

She nodded, gaze distant. "Thank you."

The door shut. The taxi pulled away, taking them farther and farther from me.

Even that cold, distant exchange couldn't kill the pathetic hope I still held for my mother.

By the time I got home, my stomach was churning. I squatted in the corner and retched, acid burning my throat.

When I returned to the table, the scrambled eggs that had been at my spot were gone. Moved to Danny's place.

"Feeding her is a waste," my father muttered. "She'd just ruin good food."

I didn't argue. Didn't go back to the table.

"I'm full," I whispered. "I'm going to my room."

"Where do you think you're going?"

His voice stopped me cold.

Something came hurtling toward me.

I threw my arm up, bracing for the blow.

But it landed light. A box of medicine.

"Aren't you complaining about stomach pain?" he grunted, not looking at me. "Didn't have time this morning. Took the long way back from the site to get it. They said it works."

I picked up the box from the dusty floor, throat tight.

"Thank you."

That night, I woke to waves of agony.

I scrambled up in the dark, found the box, shoved a pill into my mouth. It stuck in my dry throat. I swallowed hard, again and again, until it finally went down.

Big hospitals weren't magic after all. The medicine didn't work like they claimed.

It wasn't until dawn that the pain eased enough for me to breathe. The sheets were soaked through with cold sweat.

A few days later, the doctor contacted me.

My first time on an operating table. Sterile air filled my lungs.

I was there to give up my cornea.

To give it to Alex.

When I came down, I didn't feel anything unusual.

The throbbing in my eye wasn't even a third of the agony constantly gnawing at my stomach. Aside from the darkness on my left side, nothing seemed different.

In the recovery ward, the nurse insisted I stay for observation.

I glanced at the clock and panicked. Scrambled out of bed.

I had to get back and cook. If Dad came home to an empty table, he'd kill me.

In the corridor, I heard Mom's voice from the other end.

"Great! Oh, this is great! My Alex is finally going to see!"

"Thank you, doctor! Thank you so much!"

"I heard the donor is just a child? Can I meet her? I want to thank my benefactor in person!"