Chapter 5: Sins and Scapegoats

My dad has always doted on my mom. She's an expert at acting cute and innocent. Whenever she does something wrong, if my dad even dares to glare at her, she immediately bursts into tears, bringing up her hardships giving birth to me. My dad instantly softens. He turns around and blames me: "Look how much your mom suffered just for you."

They had their own weird dance, a script they'd acted out so many times. She'd sniffle, he'd go soft, and I'd end up the villain. It was like some twisted Hallmark rerun that only aired in our living room.

What does that have to do with me? Before having me, you two were happy enough—why didn't you say it was for me when you were enjoying yourselves?

I bit my tongue, but the unfairness sat heavy in my chest. Sometimes it felt like my whole existence was just a guilt trip on repeat.

Calling my dad would probably just make things worse. But I had no choice—my mom had taken all my money. How was I supposed to survive next month?

I could already picture the next thirty days: cafeteria leftovers, borrowing quarters from classmates, scraping by while Mom feasted.

I tearfully told my dad what happened. He coughed: "No, that can't be right. Your mom isn't that kind of person. She must have her reasons. Let's go home and see."

He sounded tired, but his faith in Mom was unshakeable. I almost laughed. I almost screamed. But I kept my mouth shut as we drove back in silence, the cake box wedged between us like some cruel joke.

But as soon as we walked in, we saw my mom looking excited. She came over, grabbed my dad's hand, and started acting sweet: "Honey, you've worked so hard this year!"

She was practically vibrating with fake gratitude, her smile so wide I thought her face might crack.

"You forgot it's your birthday, didn't you?"

She pulled him into the kitchen, cake front and center, candles already stabbed into the icing.

"Look at the birthday cake your daughter and I specially got for you."

She winked at me, daring me to contradict her. The lie hung heavy in the air, almost pretty in its neatness.

"Your daughter saved up for so long just to thank you for raising her!"

Her eyes filled with crocodile tears. It was Oscar-worthy, really. If only Dad would see through it just once.

With that, she covered her face and pretended to cry, burying her face in my dad's neck.

She sniffled dramatically. Dad hugged her close, patting her back. The show was in full swing, and I was the only one who knew the script was fake.

My dad looked at me in surprise: "So that's what this was! You little rascal, teaming up with your mom to trick me into coming home."

He actually looked pleased, as if the whole thing was a sweet birthday prank. I just stared at him, dumbstruck.

I burst into tears: "It's not... it's not like that, Dad..."

My voice came out small and shaky, but neither of them seemed to hear it.

But my dad just smiled and ruffled my hair, the way he used to when I was little: "Still embarrassed? Dad appreciates your thoughtfulness!"

He turned and hugged my mom, and the two of them sang happy birthday together. No matter how I tried to explain, my dad wouldn't believe me. My mom devoured the cake with gusto—my dad doesn't eat sweets. I wanted a piece, but my mom stopped me: "Go downstairs and help your dad buy some beer so he can have a nice drink."

She shoved a crumpled five into my hand, putting on a show for Dad. The message was clear: get out of here, and don't make a scene.

Then she pretended to stuff some money into my hand.

The move was so practiced it was almost elegant. To anyone watching, it looked like she was the world's most generous mom.

My dad frowned: "See? Doesn't your mom give you money when she asks you to buy something?"

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind for ever suggesting otherwise.

Mom blinked all wide-eyed innocence. “Wait, what? Emily, are you serious right now?” She let out a fake little laugh, glancing at Dad for backup.

I clutched the money, feeling suffocated with resentment. When I went out, I ran into our neighbor, Mrs. Parker. She smiled and asked, "Your mom said when you came home for break, she'd take you to the new bakery to buy the limited edition cake. Did you get to eat it?"

Mrs. Parker's voice was syrupy sweet, but I could see the curiosity behind her eyes. News traveled fast in our town, and my mom's version was always the one that stuck.

I was so mad I could grind my teeth to dust. But then I realized this wasn't just about tasting a bite anymore. My mom was scamming me—she was just being selfish. I really couldn't stand her anymore!

The truth hit me in the gut. This wasn't about food, or even money. It was about being trapped, forced to play along while everyone else believed her lies. I was done.