Torn Between Choices

Eldest.

I already knew what would happen after dinner.

Mum never said goodnight to me — she rarely did. Not since I turned thirteen.

I sat at the table alone, tracing patterns in the gravy left on my plate, listening to her footsteps fade down the hallway. Then I heard it , her voice Dora’s room, followed by Mum’s lullaby voice. Sixteen years old, and she still gets sung to sleep.

I cleared the plates.

***

It was just past six a.m. when the banging started.

“Thessaaaaa!”

I groaned and pulled the covers tighter.

“You can’t possibly still be asleep,” Mum snapped through the door. “You’re the eldest!”

The lock clicked. Of course. She used the spare key , again.

The door swung open. Her eyes scanned the room with practiced irritation.

“You should be downstairs cleaning. The house won’t clean itself.” She rolled her eyes. “Five minutes.”

She slammed the door. I stared at the ceiling for a second before dragging myself up.

Downstairs, the kettle was whistling. I passed the dining room and froze. Dora’s giggle rang out , light, carefree , the kind of laugh Mum used to pull from me, too.

I stood there a moment, soaking in the sound, a lump building in my throat. But I didn’t have time for envy. I had chores.

***

A few days ago, I forgot to move our laundry to the dryer. I was chatting with my new friend. Just one small slip.

“Can you just think before acting for once?” Mum snapped as she yanked the damp clothes from the basket.

I opened my mouth. “Mum, I didn’t mean—”

She cut me off with a sigh and turned away. No time for explanations. No interest in hearing them.

I love her. I really do.

But sometimes, I wish she’d love me back the same way.

---------

Hours later...

A soft knock broke the silence I’ve wrapped myself in like a blanket.

“It’s me,” Dora said, her voice muffled through the door.

I opened it, and she slipped inside, clutching something pink. She sat on my bed without waiting for an invitation.

“Mum got me this,” she said, holding up a teddy bear — pastel pink, with a red heart stitched to its chest. Mum loves you, the thread read.

I took it, turned it over in my hands like it might tell me something new. “So I guess the birthday celebration isn’t over yet. Sweet sixteen, huh?”

She smiled, then gently pulled the bear from my hands. “That aside...” she said, nudging me to sit beside her. “What are your plans for college?”

I laugh softly. “You’re funny. I haven’t even graduated high school yet. But yeah, I’ve got plans. It’s my final session and I want to celebrate the last day in style before—"

“I’m going on my first date next session!” she blurts out, her eyes shining. “New school, new me!”

I blinked. “Wait... what?”

She grinned, but there was something smug behind it — something that lands heavy in my chest.

Before I could say another word, she hopped off the bed and headed to the door. “Don’t tell Mum!” she called, then slammed it shut behind her.

I sat in stunned silence.

The teddy lay where she left it, smiling that stitched smile. Mocking.

Outside my room, their laughter echoed again.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt something shift inside me — something sharp, and not so easy to swallow.

I picked up the teddy, and held it close to my chest... then threw it.

It hits the wall with a soft thud and falls, face down.

Maybe I’m not the one who needs to grow up.

Maybe it’s time she saw me — not as the eldest, not as the caretaker, not as the invisible one...

But as me.

I try to remember the last time Mum hugged me. A real hug, not one of those rushed pats on the back when family visited.

I think I was thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Before the rules started stacking up. Before "You're the eldest" became a permanent excuse.

I reached for my phone and scrolled through old pictures. Dora in birthday dresses. Mum holding her in a park. Me? Always on the edge of the frame.

I love them. I really do.

But lately, love feels a lot like silence and duty.

I’m tired of always being the responsible one. Of pretending it doesn’t hurt when Dora gets what I don’t even ask for anymore.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A tiny c***k ran through the paint above the fan, like a vein. I wonder how long it's been there. How long I've been here, cracking in silence, unnoticed.

My heart raced — not from sadness this time, but something else. Something that hums beneath the surface like electricity.

Maybe it’s time.

Time to stop shrinking. Time to make noise. Time to be seen.

College.

Freedom.

A life outside these four walls, where being the eldest doesn’t mean being invisible.

I sat up suddenly, the thought bloomed in my chest like a spark catching dry grass.

I picked up my notebook, and started writing — goals, deadlines, schools I’d once considered too far-fetched. Every stroke of the pen feels like a breath of air after years underwater.

For once, I’m not thinking about Dora.

I’m thinking about me.

About what I want.

Maybe it’s selfish. But maybe selfishness is just survival in a house where your voice doesn’t echo.

Outside, Dora laughed again.

But for the first time, I didn't flinch.

This time, I laughed too softly. Not out loud, not yet. But the kind that begins inside your chest and grows like a secret.

Maybe this is how freedom starts.

Not with a bang, but with a decision.

And I’ve just made mine.

What if after high school I applied far from here? Out of state. Out of Mum’s reach.

She’d never allow it. But she wouldn’t see it coming, either.

My lips curved into the smallest smile I’ve felt all day.

The teddy lay face-down on the floor.

I don’t pick it up.