My Family Left Me on Read So I Disappeared Forever Chapter 01
Nineteen days after giving birth, I told Mom that
something didn’t feel right.
She didn’t even look up.
“Every new mother is exhausted. When I had you, no
one came to take care of me, and I got through it just fine.”
After that, I stopped trying to tell her.
At night, when the baby cried, I dragged myself out of
bed to warm his bottle. My hands shook so badly that
I dropped it on the floor.
Mom came running barefoot from her room. The first
thing out of her mouth was, “Did you do that on
purpose?”
Once, during a postpartum home visit, Dr. Rachel
Morgan asked how I had been feeling emotionally.
Before I could answer, Mom cut in.
“What could she possibly be upset about? I cook for
her, wait on her, and take care of the baby, yet she
still acts like motherhood is too much for her.”
After the doctor left, Mom slammed the door.
“You certainly know how to put on a show. You had
her completely fooled.”
During that time, I spent every waking second
trembling.
Then I started growing hydrangeas on the balcony.
Seventeen pots. I planted them one at a time,
counting down the days.
I had timed them to be in full bloom when my son
turned one.
Those ten minutes I spent watering them each day
were the only moments when I still felt alive.
Last week, I took the baby in for his vaccinations. On the way home, I had thought the first blossom should
appear any day now.
But when I opened the front door, the balcony was empty.
Only streaks of soil remained on the tile.
Mom was in the kitchen preparing vegetables. She
didn’t bother looking up.
“I pulled out those flowers. They attracted bugs. We can use the balcony for the baby’s things instead.”
I didn’t say anything. I walked onto the balcony and
stood there for a long time.
A breeze swept past me. The air smelled clean, with no trace of flowers left behind.
As I stared at the faint dirt stains on the tile, I
suddenly felt as though they were the last remaining
proof that I had ever existed in this house.
I stood on the balcony, staring at the streaks of soil
left on the tile.
The crooked streaks looked like hydrangea roots
making one final struggle as they were ripped from
the earth.
“What are you staring at? The baby’s awake. Are you
deaf?”
Mom’s voice came crashing in from the living room.
My son was crying in his crib, his little face flushed bright red.
I reached down to pick him up, but Mom shoved my
arm aside.
“Your hands are shaking like that, and you still want
to hold him? What happens if you drop him?”
She lifted him with practiced ease and patted his
back, then tossed a question over her shoulder.
“Did you warm his bottle?”
I went into the kitchen and switched on the bottle
warmer.
The bottle slipped from my fingers, struck the edge
of the counter, and rolled across the floor.
Mom rushed in barefoot, snatched it up, and scalded
it with boiling water.
“What exactly are you good for? You can’t feed him properly, you can’t take care of him, but somehow you had plenty of energy for those flowers.”
“I threw them away, and now you’re sulking? The
balcony was covered in dirt, and bugs were flying
everywhere. Where were we supposed to hang the baby’s clothes?”
“They were mine…”
“What could possibly matter more than your own child? Those flowers, or your precious feelings?”
At six thirty, I heard the lock turn.
By the time Ethan Whitmore finished taking off his
shoes, Mom was already waiting to greet him.
“You’re home. Dinner’s ready. I made your favorite
beef stew.”
Ethan played with the baby for a moment before
finally noticing me. The smile disappeared from his
face.
“What’s wrong? Have you been crying again?”
Again.
That single word scraped against my ears.
Mom sighed. She deliberately lowered her voice, but
made sure every word still reached him.
“Don’t even ask. I cleared those flowers off the
balcony, and she acted like someone had died. She
stood out there all afternoon. Didn’t warm the bottle
and didn’t take care of the baby.”
Ethan frowned.
It wasn’t concern. He was annoyed by the inconvenience.
“They were only flowers. Was it really worth getting this upset? Mom was thinking about the baby.”
Mom smiled, giving me a smug look that said, See? I told you so.
“At least my son–in–law has some sense.”
She handed the baby to Ethan, deliberately moving
around me to do it.
“Here, go to Daddy. Daddy’s the one we can count on.”
At dinner, a full bowl of beef stew, loaded with
chunks of meat, sat in front of Ethan.
Mine held only thin broth and a few slices of carrot.
There wasn’t a single piece of meat.
“You shouldn’t eat anything too greasy. Your milk supply is already low. If you get another clogged duct, we’ll have to spend more money treating it.”
“Mom.” I put down my fork. “I spent months caring for those hydrangeas. They were supposed to bloom when he turned one. I wanted to take him out there and…”
“That’s enough.” Ethan set his fork down with a sharp clatter.
“Can’t we have one peaceful meal? Do you have any
idea how much Mom has done for us?”
Mom’s eyes immediately filled with tears.
“I came all this way to take care of her after the birth,
and I haven’t heard a single word of gratitude. I should’ve left her to handle everything herself. Then we’d see how long she lasted.”
“Don’t be upset, Mom. You know how she is.” Ethan
spooned a chunk of beef into her bowl.
Then he turned to me and lowered his voice.
“Clean everything up when you’re finished. Mom’s done enough already.”
I lifted my bowl and drank the thin, meatless broth one mouthful at a time.
It tasted salty, though I couldn’t tell whether it was
the broth or my tears.
At eleven that night, everyone was asleep.
I crept over to the crib.
My son was sleeping deeply, one tiny fist curled
beside his face and his mouth slightly open.
I reached down and gently touched his cheek.
It was soft and warm.
A tear fell onto his little blanket.
“Mommy planted those flowers for you. I was waiting for you to turn one, waiting for you to learn to walk, so I could hold your hand and count every flower with you.”
“They’re gone now, but Mommy’s still here.”
“What are you doing?”
The light snapped on.
Mom stood in the doorway, staring at me as though I
were something dangerous.
“Why are you crouching beside him in the middle of the night?”
“I was only looking at him…”
“What is there to look at?”
She hurried over and began pushing the crib toward her bedroom.
“You’re emotionally unstable. The doctor said you shouldn’t be handling the baby at night.”
“The doctor never said that!”
“Keep your voice down!”
Ethan emerged from the bedroom, his face twisted
with irritation.
“Do either of you know what time it is? Does no one else get to sleep?”
He looked at me, then at Mom.
“Mom, take the baby into your room. She hasn’t been herself lately. If something happens during the night…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but those unspoken
words cut into me like a knife.
The crib’s wheels rattled across the floor, waking my
son. He burst into tears.
Mom picked him up and used her body to block me
before carrying him into her room.
The door closed.
Then came the click of the lock.
My baby’s cries reached me through the door, muffled but unmistakable.
Ethan paused beside me on his way past.
“Can’t you act normal for once?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
The bedroom door closed, and every light in the apartment went dark.
Only a thin strip of light remained beneath Mom’s door.
My child was on the other side of that light.
And I had been locked out.