My mother could only remember one daughter each month. For twenty years, she always chose my younger sister. I cooked for her, cared for her, and stayed by her hospital bed, yet she still asked for my sister. Before my wedding, I begged for one month as her daughter. She refused, saying she couldn’t bear to forget my sister. But I soon discovered she did remember me. She knew I was her daughter. She knew it was my wedding. And she knew exactly how much it would hurt. So I stopped waiting for her to choose me. But what happens when a mother chooses her daughter only when it’s too late?
