My Mother’s Name is Margarette

When I returned to my small rental apartment, the first thing I saw was the birthday cake I had ordered sitting by the door. I had saved up to buy it, but now, the sight of it only filled me with regret. So, I gave it to the little girl who lived next door.

Her sweet smile reminded me of the times I used to dream about having a daughter with Ezail. But those dreams were nothing more than illusions—like a flower reflected in a mirror or the moon on the surface of the water—beautiful, but untouchable.

I stepped inside the apartment, which was filled with memories of Ezail and me. Everything was a painful reminder—the matching couple pajamas, the towels, the walls covered in photos of us together. I could almost picture him standing in the kitchen, wearing soft loungewear as he cooked soup for me, his smile warm and gentle. That image of him, so different from the cold man in the black suit, was like a dagger to my heart.

The memories felt too real, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Without hesitating, I called a junk collector and sold everything. I didn’t leave a single thing behind. Even if it was just a small amount, I wanted to get back whatever I could. When Ezail returned for his belongings, he would find nothing but an empty room.

When he finally came back, he looked around in disbelief. "Marla, you..."

Without lifting my eyes, I held my cat in my arms and calmly said, "I thought Mr. Ford wouldn’t care about these things, so I sold them all."

For a long time, I had doubted Ezail’s feelings for me. But over time, his affection seemed to fill the emptiness inside me, and I started to trust him. Somewhere along the way, I ended up loving him more than he ever loved me.

But now, seeing him for who he truly was, I knew I had to let him go.

“If you want your things, go to the junkyard and look for them there,” I added, my voice cold.

Ezail lowered his head and reached out to hold my hand, but I quickly pulled away.

“Marla,” he said softly, “I may have lied to you, but my feelings were real.”

I almost laughed. How had I not seen how shameless he could be? He hid his lies behind sweet words and pretended to be pitiful, thinking I’d fall for it again even after learning the truth.

But I wasn’t that naive anymore.

Ignoring his sad expression, I pushed him toward the door. In the process, I accidentally kicked over a box by the entrance, spilling its contents onto the floor.

A photo album fell open, and Ezail’s eyes widened as he stared at a picture inside. "This is... you?" he asked, shocked.

I glanced at the photo—a young girl with a black birthmark covering part of her face, crying as she practiced dancing. Memories of my painful childhood flooded back, and I snapped, “It’s none of your business. Get out!

I slammed the door shut, but my gaze drifted back to the photo on the floor. The back of the picture was covered with neat, delicate handwriting. It was Margarette’s handwriting—so familiar, so unexpected.

“Marla rolled over for the first time today! Her smile is so beautiful!”

“My Marla is growing up. She looks so cute learning Taekwondo with the coach.”

“Marla said she hated me today. It hurt, but I know I’ve been too hard on her. One day, she’ll learn the truth about who she really is. Without real strength, no one can survive in the dangerous world of the Gregory family.”

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My hands shook as I turned to the last page of the album.

“Marla, Holley, my daughters, I won’t live to see you get married…”

Suddenly, the rumors I had heard came flooding back.

The head of the Gregory family, Alexander, was always surrounded by scandal. While his wife, Amanda, who came from a humble background, silently endured her days. One day, a mistress confronted her, and in a fit of anger, Amanda pushed her, causing the mistress to miscarry.

In a tragic twist of fate, Amanda herself was pregnant at the time. From then on, he seemed to settle down, but the damage was already done.

What they didn’t know was that when she gave birth, the very same mistress was there, filled with resentment. The mistress secretly swapped the babies, replacing the Gregory family’s only daughter with the maid’s child, born on the same day.

Margarette had discovered the truth but chose not to reveal it. She knew that being the Gregory family’s daughter carried power and privilege, something she wanted for her real daughter. But she couldn’t completely abandon me either. So, she worked several jobs to ensure that both Holley and I received the same education.

Gregory parents were rarely home, too busy to notice much. I remember seeing Margarette stay up late, caring for the sickly Holley more than once.

As a child, I never understood why I, her real daughter, was treated so harshly, while she smiled warmly at Holley. I resented her strictness, but now, I understood.

Running my fingers over her writing, I realized that while I had longed for a mother’s love, Margarette had always been there, watching me from a distance, documenting my every step.

“My Marla called me ‘Mom’ for the first time today! I’m so happy…”

“Marla fell down today, but I couldn’t help her. She needs to learn to stand on her own, to be strong.”

“Marla said she hates me today. I…”

A dull ache spread through my chest.

But this time, it wasn’t from anger or betrayal. It was from a deep, quiet sadness.

The hatred I had carried for so long dissolved, replaced by a grief that words couldn’t express. It was the kind of sorrow that only comes when you realize how much you’ve lost, and how much you never truly understood.