My mothers accusations about my failure to help my sick brother drove me to run away after school.
She scolded me for not assisting with my ill sibling, so once classes ended I grabbed my things and fled.
Jeanne sat on a bench in Lyons park, watching autumn leaves tumble and whirl in the crisp wind. Her phone buzzed againa fresh message from her mother, Sophie: Youve abandoned us, Jeanne! Antonins condition is worsening, and youre living as if nothing matters! Each sentence felt like a knife thrust, yet Jeanne stayed silent. She couldnt reply. Guilt, anger, and pain tangled inside her, pulling her toward the house she had left five years earlier. At eighteen, she had made a decision that split her life into a before and an after. Now, at twentythree, she still questioned whether she had chosen correctly.
Jeanne had grown in the shadow of her younger brother, Antonin. He was three when doctors diagnosed him with a severe form of epilepsy. From that point on, their home turned into a perpetual hospital room. Their mother, Sophie, devoted herself entirely to himmedications, doctors, endless tests. Their father, unable to bear the pressure, packed his bags and left, abandoning Sophie with two children. Sevenyearold Jeanne became invisible. Her childhood faded amid the constant care for Antonin. Jeanne, help me with Antonin, Jeanne, keep your voice down, dont upset him, Jeanne, wait, this isnt the time. She complied, but each year she felt her own dreams slipping farther away.
As a teenager, Jeanne learned to be practical. She cooked, cleaned, and looked after Antonin while her mother rushed between hospitals. Friends from school invited her out, but she declinedthere was always a need for her at home. Sophie praised her: Youre my rock, Jeanne, yet those words offered no warmth. Jeanne saw the look her mother gave Antonina mix of love and anguishand understood she would never receive that same gaze. She was not a daughter, but a caregiver, expected to ease the familys burden. Deep down she loved her brother, but that love was tinged with exhaustion and resentment.
In her final year of high school, Jeanne felt like a shadow. While classmates discussed universities, parties, and future plans, she could only think of medical bills and her mothers tears. One afternoon, returning from school, she found Sophie in the middle of a crisis: Antonin needs a new treatment, and we cant afford it! You must help us, Jeannefind a job after the baccalauréat! In that instant something inside her snapped. She stared at her mother, her brother, the walls that had always suffocated her, and realized that staying would erase her completely. She suffered, but she could no longer be the person everyone expected.
After graduating, Jeanne packed her backpack. She left a note: Mom, I love you, but I have to go. Forgive me. With five hundred euros saved from odd jobs, she bought a ticket to Paris. That night, seated on the train, she wept, feeling like a traitor. Yet a new pulse beat in her chesthope. She wanted to live, study, breathe, without the constant reminder of hospital corridors. In Paris she rented a dormitory bed, took a job as a waitress, and enrolled in night courses at university. For the first time she felt like an individual, not a cog.
Sophie never forgave her. In the first months she called, shouted, begged: Youre selfish! Antonin suffers without you! Her voice cut Jeanne like a blade. Sophie sent money when she could, but never returned. Over time the calls grew rarer, yet every message remained laden with blame. Jeanne knew Antonins health was declining and her mother was exhausted, but she could no longer shoulder that weight. She wanted to love her brother as a sister, not as a nurse. Still, each time she read her mothers words she wondered, If I had stayed, who would I have become?
Today Jeanne leads her own life. She holds a job, has friends, and is planning a masters degree. The past still haunts her. She thinks of Antonin, of his smile on the days he felt better. She loves her mother, yet she cannot forget the childhood that was stolen from her. Sophie continues to write, each message echoing the house she ran from. Jeanne does not know if she will ever return, explain herself, or reconcile. One thing is certain: the day the train carried her away from Lyon, she saved herself. That bitter truth now fuels her onward march.
