**The Unloved Daughter**
I was almost home when my phone rang in my bag. I fished it out and answered my brother.
“Hey, Toby.” I called him by his childhood name without a second thought, even though he was grown now, taller than me.
“You haven’t forgotten Mum’s birthday next week, have you? It’s a big one,” he reminded me.
A timely reminder, because I truly had forgotten.
“Course not,” I lied shamelessly. “Got her a present yet?”
“That’s why I rang. Can we meet up? Talk it over.”
“Sure. Come round mine? Or grab lunch tomorrow at the usual café?”
“Done. See you at noon. Call if anything changes, yeah? Later.” And just like that, Anthony hung up.
I adore him, my little brother. He’s the closest person to me in the world. Not Mum—him. These days, I shudder remembering how I once wanted to kill him. The guilt never leaves me, especially when I see him. And the shame. I’d never forgive myself. But back then…
***
My future parents met at university, inseparable from day one. But they had nowhere to be alone. Mum lived with her parents, and Dad was in student halls. The only way they could be together? Get married. So they announced it to Mum’s parents—sighs, pleas to slow down, tears—none of it worked. The two were stubborn, fiery, insisting on their right to love. In the end, her parents relented.
Mum’s never been one to back down. She convinced them to have a small wedding and put the savings toward a rented flat. No way they’d squeeze into her parents’ two-bedroom home. So they did just that.
Newlywed and reckless, they spent every spare moment in bed. They showed up to lectures exhausted, radiating bliss. Like all young lovers, they swore their bond could weather anything. As if life would never test them. How naïve.
Inevitably, Mum got pregnant. It shocked them both—their first real trial. They handled it well, at first. Just a year and a half of studies left. They’d manage.
Then came the mood swings. Vicious morning sickness, endless fatigue. The smell of food made her ill; cooking was impossible. Dad started lingering in the halls with his mates. Fights flared, but they always made up—especially once the sickness passed and Mum cooked again.
Then I arrived. Sleepless nights, relentless exhaustion, and still no break from studies. Gran and Grandad took turns babysitting, giving Mum space to finish her degree. She often skipped lectures, breasts aching from unused milk.
Her stress seeped into me. I wailed constantly, only settling in someone’s arms. My parents leapt at every chance to leave me with relatives and escape to class—or nap there.
Love or not, they lacked patience. Petty flaws became glaring. They kept tally of who did what. Fatigue fuelled constant bickering. Dad vanished into the halls again, coming home late, reigniting old fights.
Then came graduation. Diplomas in hand, Dad started working. No more empty pockets, no more sleepless nights. I grew; nursery took me off their hands. Mum went back to work. But then I got sick. She took endless sick days. Gran and Grandad were too young to retire, too busy to help. Life kept throwing hurdles. Dad stayed late at work more often…
One night, he came home late again. Mum erupted.
“Enough!” he shouted. “I can’t live like this. Marrying you was a mistake. We rushed… I love someone else.” No warning, no pause. He packed a bag and left.
I was too young to remember. I pieced it together later—bits from Mum, scraps from Gran, the rest from my own guesses.
Few young marriages survive hardship. After Dad left, Mum changed. She wept often, took her pain out on me.
Spilled tea? Dropped biscuits? “Clumsy, just like your father,” she’d snap. I decided Dad left because I was bad. I believed it for years. Grew up steeped in guilt.
“Other kids are tidy. You? A mess. Just like him.”
I thought my mere existence annoyed her. Gran said I looked just like Dad—must’ve been true. What rotten luck.
My life’s purpose became not upsetting Mum. Anything less than top marks felt like failure. I bent over backwards to please her. It was never enough.
“Your handwriting’s a disgrace. Chicken scratch, like your father’s.”
So I practised for hours instead of playing. I fixed it—beautiful script. Did Mum notice? Doubt it.
Then she remarried. Things eased; she barely looked at me now. Uncle Will often visited my room, helped with homework, played games—until Mum called him away.
Once, he asked if I wanted a brother or sister. I wanted neither. I wanted to be loved. “A brother,” I said. He smiled, ruffled my hair. Mum never did that. My heart swelled with gratitude.
The days Mum spent in hospital were my happiest. Just me and Uncle Will. No shouting. I started calling him Dad. Then she came home with a tiny bundle, and everything changed.
My brother was small, helpless, always screaming. How I hated him. Now Dad ignored me too.
But time passed. Toby grew, waddling after me on chubby legs. It brought no joy. If he fell, Mum blamed me.
All the love went to him. Mum boasted about his tiny triumphs, forgetting me entirely. Only Dad asked about school. That’s when the thought took root—if Toby vanished, Dad would love only me. Not even a thought, just a dark, unshaped urge.
When I was nine and Toby three, we went to Brighton. The sea stretched forever, sun warm, sky cloudless. I swam, collected shells, built sandcastles. We stayed far from crowds.
That day, Mum napped under a wide-brimmed hat. Dad read beside her. Sweltering heat.
“Can I swim?” I asked.
Toby clamoured to join. He copied everything I did. Dad said yes but warned me to watch him and stay shallow.
I hadn’t planned anything. We waded in. Toby clutched my hand, brave as we went deeper. I glanced back. Mum hadn’t moved. Dad was still reading. Water now reached Toby’s chest. I kept going. Then I let go. He stopped, looked up at me.
“Look, dolphins,” I said, pointing.
He stepped forward—into a dip. A wave swallowed him whole. I didn’t grab him. Didn’t pull him up, though I could’ve. I stood, watching him thrash, choke. For a second, his head broke the surface. His eyes met mine—not scared, just confused. Then he went under again.
Then, terror hit me. I turned and fled, screaming. Dad was already sprinting past me. Maybe he saw. Maybe he just knew. Two strides, and he was there, hauling Toby out.
No harm done. Just swallowed seawater. But Dad’s stare scorched me. Disappointment. I wished the earth would swallow me whole.
I feared he’d tell Mum. He never did. Toby babbled about dolphins. After that, Dad never left us alone again. He didn’t trust me.
That’s how I nearly drowned my brother. I carried the guilt forever. He never understood. Or if he did, he forgot.
I finished school with top marks. Any university would’ve taken me. I chose Edinburgh—anywhere far away.
My classmates thought me studious, shy. Truth? I was just an unloved child, crushed and closed off. I avoided boys.
When I graduated, Toby was finishing his A-levels. He begged to join me in Edinburgh. I never understood why he loved me so.
He convinced our parents. I rented us a flat. They helped with costs. My hate for him evaporated; I loved him fiercely. He’s handsome, my brother.
Eventually, he met a girl. Gran left her a flat. They moved in together. I covered for him—when our parents visited, he’d crash at mine for a few days.
He became my only true family.
***
“Hey!” I called, spotting Toby by the café window.
“Hey.” He stood, kissed my cheek. We might’ve looked like lovers. “Got your usual—coffee and scones.”
“Thanks. Not hungry, though.”
Coffee arrived. Toby devoured his scones like a starving wolf. I slid mine over.
“So. Mum’s birthday?” I asked.
“Got an idea. Me and Kate came up with something she’ll love. But I can’t swing it alone. You in?”
“Obviously,” I said.
Mum always thanked me for gifts, then set them aside. That night, she fawned over Toby’s silly presents. I didn’t mind. Why bother competing? I promised to transfer him the money.
“It’ll be from both of us,” he said.
I nodded, smiling. We planned the trip home. Then Toby leaned in.
“That bloke can’t stop staring at you,” heHe winked, dashed off, and left me there with a melting scoop of vanilla ice cream, the first sweet taste of a life where I finally stopped seeking love and simply let it find me.
