Chapter 3: When Love Is Conditional

The summer after elementary school, I was first in the whole school.

I ran home, report card clutched to my chest, heart pounding with excitement. For once, I let myself hope Mom would be proud.

I hurried home, eager to share the good news with Mom.

I rehearsed what I’d say, picturing her smile, the way she used to hug me tight after a good grade.

But as soon as I walked in, I saw Madison crying on the couch, with Mr. Porter and Mom comforting her.

The TV was off. The air was thick with tension. I hesitated in the doorway, not sure if I should speak.

“Mom.” I tried to keep my excitement in check, but I couldn’t help the smile on my face. “I got first place in the whole school.”

I held out my report card, hoping she’d notice.

I looked at her hopefully, waiting for praise.

I waited for a smile, a hug—anything.

But Mom glared at me, with a look that could kill. “Shut up! Go to your room!”

Her words hit me like a slap. I froze, not sure what I’d done wrong.

I was startled, not sure what happened. I backed away and went to my room.

I closed the door quietly, sinking onto my bed. The report card crumpled in my hand.

After a long time, Madison’s sobs finally stopped.

I listened through the wall, counting every sniffle, every whispered comfort.

A bit later, Mom came in.

Her face was tight, lips pressed into a thin line. I sat up, heart in my throat.

I asked nervously, “Mom, what happened?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but it shook anyway.

Mom was stern. “Ava, Madison did badly on her exams. She’s really upset. As her older sister, be considerate. So don’t mention your grades at home, okay?”

Her words stung more than any scolding. I nodded, blinking back tears.

My heart went cold.

I stared at the floor, feeling numb. I wondered if she even remembered what today was.

So that was it. To spare Madison’s feelings, I wasn’t allowed to mention my own achievements. I folded my report card and slid it under my pillow. It didn’t matter anymore.

Mom really was the picture of “considerate.”

She’d bend over backwards for Madison, even if it meant breaking me in the process.

As she was about to leave, I asked, “Mom, I got first place. Aren’t you happy for me at all?”

My voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

She gave me that fake smile. “I know, Ava. You’ve always been the best.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It felt like an afterthought.

I stood there as tears welled up. That half-hearted praise was worse than none at all.

I wiped my eyes, determined not to let her see me cry.

At dinner, Mom kept comforting Madison. “Madison, one bad test doesn’t mean anything. I believe you’re smart—you’ll do better next time.”

She spooned extra mashed potatoes onto Madison’s plate, her voice soft and encouraging.

I scoffed to myself. One bad test? Madison was always at the bottom. And with her attitude—sleeping in class, skipping school—she’d never do well, not a chance.

I picked at my food, rolling my eyes when no one was looking.

Madison glanced up and caught the look in my eyes.

Her gaze sharpened, lips curling into a sneer.

Uh oh. My heart sank.

I knew I’d just made things worse.

The next second, Madison started crying again.

She wailed, clutching her fork like it was a lifeline. Mom rushed to her side.

Mom panicked. “Madison, don’t be sad. How about this—I’ll grant you a wish. Whatever you want, I’ll buy it for you, as a graduation present.”

Her voice was frantic, desperate to make Madison smile again.

Madison looked at me with a nasty glint, then sniffled, “Really, Mom? Anything I want?”

She shot me a look that made my stomach drop. I braced myself for the worst.

I had a bad feeling.

My palms started to sweat. I knew what was coming.

Sure enough, Madison pointed at my digital watch. “I want Ava’s watch.”

She said it so sweetly, you’d think she was asking for a glass of milk.

I quickly hid my wrist behind my back.

I clutched my arm, shaking my head. Not this. Anything but this.

How could Madison be so mean? She knew how much that watch meant to me—she was doing it on purpose!

She’d seen me polish it every night, knew I never took it off. This was her way of getting back at me.

Dad gave me that digital watch for my tenth birthday. I’d taken great care of it; it still worked perfectly.

It was the last thing he ever gave me. I wore it like a shield, a reminder that someone once loved me unconditionally.

But I knew Madison didn’t even like it. The first time Mom met her, she’d given Madison a brand new digital watch—three times the price of mine.

She’d bragged about it, waving it in my face. I didn’t care—mine meant more.

Madison had even mocked me for wearing such an old-fashioned watch.

She called it “retro,” then laughed with her friends. I ignored her, holding onto my memories.

But now she wanted it, just to spite me.

She didn’t care about the watch—she just wanted to see me lose.

“No! That was a gift from my dad,” I shook my head hard.

I clung to my wrist, refusing to let go. My voice trembled with anger.

Mom saw how upset I was and tried to reason with Madison. “Madison, her watch is old and not very pretty. Didn’t I already get you a nicer one? If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you another.”

She tried to bargain, but Madison wouldn’t budge.

Mr. Porter scolded, “Madison, don’t be unreasonable!”

He sounded annoyed, but didn’t really care either way.

Madison pouted. “I just thought, since Ava always does so well and wears that watch, maybe it’s her lucky charm for good grades.”

She batted her eyelashes, playing innocent. I wanted to scream.

Mr. Porter laughed. “That’s just superstition. You’re too old to believe in that.”

He rolled his eyes, lighting another cigarette.

“I know it’s silly, but I just want to try. Please, Ava, let me wear it for a few months. If my grades don’t improve, I’ll give it back.”

She looked at me with fake sincerity, daring me to refuse.

“What nonsense—” Mr. Porter tried to stop her, but Mom cut him off.

She raised her hand, silencing him. Her eyes were on me.

“Ava, just let your sister borrow it. She’ll give it back,” Mom said firmly.

Her tone left no room for argument. I felt trapped.

I kept my hand behind my back. “No!”

I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. I wouldn’t let them take this from me.

Mom lost her temper, grabbed my arm, and pried the watch off, ignoring my struggles.

Her grip was iron. I fought, but she was stronger. The watch slipped from my wrist, and I felt something inside me break.

At twelve, I was no match for an adult. And she was my mom—I didn’t dare fight back. I just let her take it.

As Mom tore the watch from me, Madison and Mr. Porter just watched, unmoved.

They didn’t say a word. I felt completely alone.

In that moment, I realized I was the outsider here. They were the real family.

I curled up on the floor, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. No one came to comfort me.

I collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

The room spun around me. I hugged my knees, wishing Dad could come back and save me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the world.

Mr. Porter pretended to comfort me, tried to help me up. I pushed his arm away and ran to my room, crying.

I slammed the door, muffling my cries with a pillow. My heart felt like it was splitting in two.

“Leave her. She’s too old to act like this. She needs to be taught a lesson!” Mom shouted from the living room.

Her words echoed through the door, sharp and cold. I buried my face in the pillow, wishing I could disappear.

The next day, Madison wore my watch, making sure I saw it every chance she got—carrying fruit, opening doors, stretching… She’d always bump the watch on something.

She’d wave her arm around, tapping the watch on every hard surface she could find. I winced every time.

I’d worn that watch for two years without a scratch. Every time she hit it, my heart ached.

I wanted to scream at her to stop, but I knew it would only make things worse.

When she wore it to wash her hands, I finally snapped. “Take it off! It’s not waterproof!”

I lunged across the bathroom, panic in my voice. She just grinned.

“Not waterproof?” she blinked, then slowly took it off.

She looked at me, eyes cold and calculating.

Then, right in front of me, she tossed it into the sink.

The splash echoed in the silent bathroom. I gasped, reaching for it.

I lunged, snatching it out, but it was too late—the screen was dead.

Madison feigned innocence. “Oops, it slipped.”

She shrugged, lips twitching in a smirk. I saw red.

I grabbed her hair and shoved her head into the sink.

My hands shook with rage. I didn’t care if I got in trouble.

“Aah!” Madison screamed.

Her shriek echoed down the hallway. I didn’t let go.

Blinded by rage, I dunked her head again and again.

I barely heard her screams. I just wanted her to feel a fraction of my pain.

“Give it back! Give it back! Give it back!” I screamed.

My voice was raw, desperate. The watch dangled from my hand, dripping water.

Mom, busy in the kitchen, heard the commotion and ran in, shocked by what she saw.

She dropped the spatula, eyes wide. For a second, no one moved.

She yanked me away and rushed to help Madison.

Her grip was fierce. She shoved me aside, wrapping Madison in a towel.

Madison gasped for air, then ran over and started hitting and kicking me.

She clawed at my arms, shrieking. I tried to block her blows, but Mom held me tight.

I tried to fight back, but Mom held me tight. I couldn’t move and just took the beating.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for it to end.

“Let me go!” I struggled.

I twisted and kicked, but Mom wouldn’t let go.

But Mom pinned me, letting Madison hit me.

She stood nearby, arms crossed, glaring.

When Madison finally tired out, she glared at us. “When Dad gets home, you’ll be sorry!”

Her voice was full of venom. I shivered, knowing she meant it. My skin crawled.

I felt Mom flinch.

For the first time, I saw fear in her eyes. Madison had more power than either of us.

“Madison,” Mom pleaded, “can you not tell your dad about this?”

Her voice was shaky, desperate to keep the peace.

Madison dried her hair, then sneered. “Sure, if Ava gets down on her knees and says sorry.”

She folded her arms, waiting for me to give in.

“In your dreams!” I yelled. “You broke my watch on purpose. You deserve it!”

I stood my ground, clutching the broken watch. I wasn’t going to let her win.

Smack! Mom slapped me. The sound echoed in the bathroom. I reeled, stunned.

She stared coldly. “Apologize to Madison.”

Her voice was ice. I shook my head, tears streaming down my face.

“No!” I held up the watch. “Mom, Dad gave this to me. He’s gone now, and this is all I have left. Look, Madison broke it! He’s gone, and I can’t even protect the things he left me…”

My words tumbled out, messy and raw. I clutched the watch to my chest, sobbing.

I sobbed.

The room was silent except for my cries. No one moved to comfort me.

“Madison didn’t mean to,” Mom finally said.

Her words were a knife to my heart. I stared at her, realizing she’d chosen Madison over me.

In that moment, I gave up hope. I realized I was the only one mourning Dad. To her, he was just someone who’d died—long forgotten. Just a name in an old photo.

I wiped my eyes, standing up straighter. I wouldn’t beg for her love anymore.

She had a new family, a new husband, a new daughter, a new life.

I was just a shadow, a reminder of the past she wanted to forget.

If she didn’t want Dad and me anymore, I didn’t want her pitiful scraps of love either.

I made a silent promise to myself: I’d never let her hurt me again.

I never apologized to Madison. But she didn’t tell on me because Mom bribed her with a hundred bucks in spending money.

She waved the bill at me, smirking. I just rolled my eyes and walked away.

That summer, I didn’t say a word to them.

I kept to myself, spending hours at the library or wandering the neighborhood. It was easier than facing them at home.

One day, Madison said she wanted to learn to draw. Mom immediately signed her up for an art class.

She gushed about Madison’s “talent,” signing her up for lessons at the fanciest studio in town.

I knew she was doing it on purpose—she’d seen me doodling in my workbook and knew I loved drawing.

She’d peek over my shoulder, pretending not to care. But I saw the way she watched me.

Dad had promised that if I did well on my entrance exams, he’d send me to art class.

He’d even circled the ad in the paper, promising we’d go together. That promise died with him.

I got first place, but Dad was gone. He’d never keep that promise.

I stared at my trophy, wishing he could see it. I hoped he’d be proud, wherever he was.

It’s okay. I could tell Dad in my heart and make him proud.

At night, I’d whisper my achievements to his photo, hoping he was listening.

As for the art class, if Dad couldn’t take me, I didn’t want to go.

I told myself it didn’t matter. Art was our thing, not theirs.

Madison would always give me a smug look when she went to class.

She’d wave her sketchbook at me, bragging about her teacher. I just smiled and let her have it.

I knew she didn’t even like drawing—she just wanted to spite me. Before, I’d have been jealous and upset. Now, I didn’t care.

Her victories felt hollow. Let her have it. I refused to let her get under my skin.

No hope, no disappointment.

I built a wall around my heart. Nothing could hurt me if I didn’t care.