Chapter Two
I Hate You
Our relationship hasn’t just soured—it’s rotted. Spoiled to the fucking core.
Night after night, I pray, begging God to take my mother away. Because honestly—life would be easier without her. Everywhere I look, my friends’ moms adore them, no matter what dumb shit they do. But nothing I do is ever good enough for mine.
If I bring home good grades, she shrugs like I cheated. If I clean the entire house, she zeroes in on one corner I missed. Birthdays? Forget it. Other kids get balloons, cake and laughter.
Meanwhile I get control.
She hijacks everything—down to the theme—until it isn’t even my party anymore. It’s her show, and I’m just the background character.
And the sick part is I feel like she likes it. Feeding off every dismissal and mean comment, reminding me I’ll never measure up.
It’s like she carries around some invisible measuring stick, and no matter how high I stretch, I’ll never be able to touch it. I’ve tried everything—quiet kid, loud kid, good kid, bad kid, smart kid, confident kid—doesn’t matter.
Somehow, I’m always too much or not enough. The rules change daily, but the ending’s always the same; me loosing. Sometimes I think I’m just a mirror reflecting everything she doesn’t want to face. Which means I’ll never be enough.
I sit curled on the edge of my bed, knees to my chest, staring at the fake clouds painted on my ceiling. My brother’s voice cracks next to me. We talk low, trying to make sense of this mess she calls love.
She’s got a new boyfriend.
He seems harmless, or whatever. But that’s not the problem. She’s the problem. She barely gives us the scraps of her love already—so what’s going to happen when she pours all of her love into him instead?
Tears burn my eyes. My brother shakes his head, voice breaking. “I’m scared, Jainey…”
We can’t keep sitting here. Walking down the hall, still sobbing we push open her door. She’s sitting up in her bed, scrolling her phone like the we’re invisible. No glance. No pause. Nothing.
“Mom,” I choke out, voice trembling but slightly raised, “we just don’t get how you can choose him over us.
You don’t even know him that well—we’re your kids.
Doesn’t that matter?” She barely even cooks for us anymore—not that her food is worth bragging about, but still.
These days, if she’s not at work, she’s with him.
And when they’re here, it’s the same story—door shut, laughter muffled through the walls like some kind of bad reminder.
It’s almost funny, how fast we stop existing the second he shows up.
Almost.
My brother’s voice joins mine, ragged and raw. “Why don’t you care how we feel. You’re just pushing us away, like you always do!” For a second, I think she’s going to acknowledge us. Really see us. But she doesn’t.
Her eyes flick up just long enough to slice through me with her glare.
“You’re not ruining my life,” she snaps.
“I deserve to be happy. I don’t care how you feel.
You two are fucking pathetic. Always crying, always thinking you have a say in what I do in my life.
I’m the parent not you. I finally have someone who wants me, and I’m not losing him because of your ungrateful asses.
If you can’t deal with it, then I’ll just send you to live with your dumbass dad. ”
My chest caves, tears spilling harder, my brother’s sobs echoing mine. We’re clearly not her kids—we’re just baggage. Inconveniences she wishes she could unload anywhere without it tracing back to her.
We stumble out of her room, hollow and wrecked, she slams the door so hard the walls actually shake. The sound sticks to me, echoing in my head.
Back in our room, we collapse to the floor, heads against the wall, staring up at these stupid clouds.
“She barely shows us love now,” I cry, my voice shredded. “If she gives it all to him, what’s left for us?”
“Exactly,” my brother says, his voice cracking, almost a cry for help. “We’re her kids. How can she just throw us away for someone she barely even knows?”
I nod through the tears, throat raw. “She chose him. And she’ll keep choosing him.” The love we begged for isn’t coming back. And nothing—nothing—will ever be the same.
? ? ?
It’s been over six months since my mom started seeing her boyfriend, and my brother and I have pretty much mastered the art of tuning them both out. He still doesn’t see her for who she really is—I guess she’s good at playing sweet when she wants to be.
The one thing she hit the jackpot on is his job.
He works in the oil fields, which means money—and lots of it. No kids and a steady income. She probably thinks she won the damn lottery.
As for me, I couldn’t care less about him trying to fill some “dad” role. I’ve gone this long without one and turned out fine enough. It’s hard to miss something you never had.
Give it time though—he’ll regret letting her into his life before he can blink twice. I regret it, and I didn’t even get a choice.