Gone, and Now They Regret It

My brother died while saving me from drowning. Since then, my mother has been even stricter with me.

On my birthday, I felt unwell and didn’t attend my tutoring class. When my mom found out, she slapped me hard and snapped, “Who do you think you’re letting down, you ungrateful child?! Why couldn’t it have been you? I wish it was you who died!”

I thought when I died, they would be happy, but contrary to my expectation, my mother held my diary and wept.

——

As I lingered at the doorstep, my smartwatch rang. The crumpled slip with my second-place rank from the monthly exam was clenched in my fist. Each ring echoed louder, matching the rhythm of my racing heart and filling me with a suffocating dread.

Just then, the door swung open, and my mother, Sabina glared at me.

“Standing outside like that—what do you think you’re doing? Get in, now.” Her voice was ice, cutting through the cold winter air and sending a familiar shiver through me.

Like a machine, I obeyed, my steps hollow as I walked inside. The floor was heated, yet I felt nothing but an unyielding chill. I didn’t dare look up, sensing her contempt from across the room.

“I spend all this money on your tutoring, and for what?” Her words fell like stones. “Look at Gavin; he doesn’t need tutoring, and he’s always at the top. Why can’t you beat him at anything?”

“You’re always in second place because you don’t work hard enough. With scores like this, how do you expect to get into Stanford University?”

Her harsh words struck me over and over, leaving me too shaken to even muster the courage to respond.

I’d once tried to defend myself, but each attempt only invited sharper, crueler insults. Eventually, I learned to say nothing at all.

“I’ve enrolled you in another tutoring class. Go there right after school,” she announced coldly.

My days became a never-ending blur of her demands, leaving no space to rest, to breathe.

I was exhausted, completely drained.

The school was gearing us up for Stanford University’s entrance exams, pushing us late into the evenings. I felt my body had reached its limits, but I held out until our final exam.

As the bell rang, I sprang to my feet, but the room spun around me. With a thud, I sank back into my chair, the world blurring at the edges.

There was only half an hour until my tutoring class started.

On any other day, I would have rushed to the snack shop near the tutoring center to grab a quick dinner. But as I steadied myself, a rare, defiant impulse stirred within me.

What if I didn’t go today? It’s my 17th birthday. I would skip just this once. Maybe Mom would understand.

I stayed behind in the empty classroom until the school janitors began locking up, then slipped outside, my backpack heavy on my shoulders. I wandered to a nearby park and sat on a bench, watching a young boy tug at his parents’ sleeves, begging for cotton candy. They teased him playfully, and he burst into tears.

As I watched them, a smile tugged at the corner of my lips, momentarily forgetting my mother’s obsessive control over me. But as I bent down to tie my shoelaces, familiar shoes appeared in my vision.

Before I could even look up, a fierce slap struck me, sending me sideways. My head hit the ground with a sharp, jarring pain.

The dizziness from earlier swelled back, clouding my mind. When my senses returned, I caught sight of my watch, shattered on the pavement beside me, the glass glinting in the fading light.

People nearby began to gather, murmuring in disapproval.

“Ma’am, you can’t hit your daughter like that, no matter what she’s done.”

“She’s almost an adult; this is unacceptable...”

My mother’s smile flickered, her face twitching as she forced a sweet façade. “Oh, don’t worry; I didn’t hit her hard. We were just playing around. Move along, please.”

She seized me by the collar and hauled me to the car, her grip bruising.

I knew this was the calm before the storm.

Sure enough, as soon as we entered the apartment, my mother seized me by the hair and threw me to the floor. I lay there, paralyzed like a beaten dog, too scared to even move. She jabbed her finger at my head, her words sharp and relentless.

“Get up! Who do you think you are, giving me that look? I feed you, clothe you, and provide for you. Even a dog would at least wag its tail in gratitude!”

“I work myself to the bone to make money, and you go off to enjoy yourself?! You think that’s fair to me?”

Choking back tears, I tried to explain, hoping she’d understand if she knew I was feeling unwell. “I wasn’t feeling well today, and it’s my birthday... I just wanted to rest just this once. I promise I’ll go to class tomorrow.”

But reality was never as kind as I wanted it to be. My words seemed to touch a nerve, and her anger flared even hotter.

“You think I want to pay for all this? You think these classes are free?” Her voice rose with each word, bitter and accusing. “I spend all my money on you, and this is what I get? If it had been your brother who’d survived, would I still be worrying like this?”

At that moment, her words transported me back five years ago.

We were once a happy family, living together in peace. Both of my parents worked hard to give us a comfortable life, never once complaining about their struggles. My brother was seventeen and in his senior year. He had been accepted into Stanford University with remarkable grades. On the other hand, I was more playful and a little more carefree, and my grades were only average. But back then, my parents always said that as long as I was happy, that was all that mattered.

To celebrate my brother’s accomplishment, we took a family trip to the beach. It was the first time I’d ever seen the ocean, and I charged toward it like an unleashed puppy, grabbing my float and running straight into the waves.

Then I felt the tug of an offshore current—something I’d only read about in geography class. Within moments, it pulled me away from the shore. I screamed for help, but each shout filled my mouth with salt water, burning my throat and nose. No one dared to jump in after me; everyone knew the strength of those invisible currents.

Just when I was about to give up, a hand gripped mine.

“Hang on, Deanna, just a little longer. I’ve got you,” Gavin said, his voice steady and determined.

He fought the current, using every bit of his strength to push me up toward safety. When my dad finally grasped my hand from the shore, my brother's hand slipped away.

I was saved, but my brother was swept out to sea.

Everything fell apart after that. My mother’s love, her warmth—all of it turned into a cold, heavy resentment that she directed solely at me. And I couldn’t blame her. It was my fault.

If I hadn’t been so reckless, my brother would still be here. If I hadn’t cried out, he wouldn’t have died trying to save me. I had destroyed our family’s happiness.

“Who do you think you’re letting down, you ungrateful child? Why couldn’t it have been you?” she shrieked.

Each time she spoke of my brother, it was the same words on repeat. I’d grown numb to hearing them, yet somehow, they still stung. Overcome with frustration, she kicked me out of the house.

For the first time, I left home. I wandered the streets until nightfall, aimless and alone.

Afraid to go home while my mom was still upset, I found myself with nowhere else to go. Thankfully, my deskmate's mother, Auntie Molly took me in. Sharlene, my lively and cheerful classmate, had a way of brightening even my heaviest days, and tonight was no different. Sitting in their cozy home, enjoying the steaming chicken casserole her mom had made, and laughing at Sharlene's endless jokes, I felt my worries begin to fade.

Before bed, Auntie Molly came over, gently brushing her hand over our heads with a soft, reassuring smile. "You must be tired," she murmured. "Get some rest, and tomorrow, go home and apologize to your mom. She’ll forgive you; don’t worry."

After that, she turned off the light and went out.

I wished with all my heart that she could be my mother. Just maybe, I could have been happy, too.

But my own mother had once been just as warm and gentle.

Why do people change?

Sensing the heaviness in my silence, Sharlene hugged me close, her arm wrapped around me like a soft shield. A surge of sadness welled within me, and I couldn’t keep the words from spilling out.

“Will my mom really forgive me?”

Sharlene brushed it off with a reassuring smile. “Of course! They say mothers and daughters don’t hold grudges overnight. Running away isn’t a big deal. Just be strong.”

But only I knew the truth—what I desperately wished my mother would forgive me.