The Shadow I Used To Be

Chapter 2

The air is thick with tension—so heavy you could almost reach out and grab it. It’s mid-afternoon, but the curtains are drawn shut, casting the room in deep shadows. Her mother stands with her hands on her hips, face flushed red with anger. Across from her, Grandma sits straight-backed in an armchair, her knuckles white where she grips the armrests, but her voice is steady as stone.

The girl—eleven now, in her new grade seven uniform—hides behind the doorway, peeking out with wide, scared eyes. She clutches her worn backpack to her chest, the one Nana Felicia had patched up for her.

“I told you to stay out of my family’s business, mama!” Her mother’s voice cracks like thunder. “She’s my daughter—my responsibility!”

Grandma stands slowly, her movements deliberate. “Really? Responsibility? When was the last time you asked her what she wanted for dinner? When did you sign her permission slip for the school field trip? I found it crumpled in the trash last week!” She gestures toward the girl’s hiding spot, and both women turn to look at her. The girl freezes, tears welling in her eyes.

“She’s fine,” her mother snaps, avoiding eye contact. “Dianne needs me more—she’s got exams coming up, she’s going to be something great. This one…” She waves a hand dismissively. “She’s already a burden. Always was.”

Grandma’s jaw tightens. “You say that like it’s her fault. Like she asked to be the one your husband saved. You’ve blamed her for years, and what has it gotten you? A little girl who flinches every time someone moves too fast, who hides her drawings because she thinks they’re not good enough.” She steps closer, her voice dropping but growing sharper. “You don’t want her—we both know that. You barely look at her unless you’re reminding her of what you think she did wrong. So why not let me take full custody? At least I’ll give her what she needs—love.”

Her mother laughs, but it’s a bitter, empty sound. “Love won’t get her anywhere in life! Dianne has ambition—this one just sits and draws all day!”

“And maybe that’s exactly what she needs to do to be whole!” Grandma’s voice rises now, matching her daughter’s. “I won’t stand by and watch you let her waste away in this house, like she’s invisible! I have the means to take care of her—send her to good schools, give her a home where she matters.”

The girl steps out from behind the door then, her small voice shaking. “Mom… do you… do you not want me?”

Her mother’s face flickers—for a second, something like guilt crosses it—but then it hardens again. “I have to take care of your sister. That’s my job.”

Grandma moves to the girl’s side, putting a protective arm around her shoulders. “Then let me take care of her. Let me be the one who makes sure she knows she’s not a burden. Let me show her she’s worth more than being someone’s shadow.”

After a long silence, her mother turns away, staring out the crack in the curtains. “Fine,” she mutters, her voice low. “Take her. But don’t come back here telling me how to raise my children.”

Grandma pulls the girl close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Come on, mija,” she says gently. “Let’s go home.”

As they walk out the door, the girl glances back. Her mother is already on the phone, her voice brightening as she talks about Dianne’s latest achievement. No one looks to see if she’s gone.

****

The house smells like cinnamon and fresh paint—Grandma converted the spare room into a small studio just for her, with big windows that let in warm morning light.

Cassidy stands in the middle of it, staring at the blank canvases leaning against the wall, the shelves full of paint tubes and brushes, the wooden easel Grandma had polished by hand.

“I know it’s not much,” Grandma says, setting a plate of her famous leche flan on the table. “But I wanted you to have a place where you can make whatever you want—no one here will tell you it’s not good enough.”

The girl’s hands shake as she picks up a brush. For the first time, she draws without folding the paper up to hide it. She paints a garden full of flowers in every color she can imagine, and when she finishes, Grandma hangs it right above the living room sofa—next to photos of her and her father.

At parent-teacher conferences, Grandma sits in the front row, beaming as her teacher talks about how creative and hardworking she is. Afterward, she takes her out for ice cream—two scoops, just like she wanted when she was little.

When she's in her tenth grade, she’s hunched over her desk, textbooks spread everywhere, working on her final project for literature. Grandma knocks softly before coming in with a cup of hot chocolate.

“You know, your father loved to read too,” Grandma says, sitting beside her and pointing to the book open on the desk. “He used to say stories were a way to see the world without leaving home.”

“Do you think I’m smart enough to go to college?” she asks quietly. “Mom always said—”

“Your mother doesn’t know everything,” Grandma cuts in gently, squeezing her hand. “You work hard, you care deeply, and you see beauty where others don’t. That’s smarter than any grade you could get. And whatever you want to study—wherever you want to go—I’ll be right here supporting you.”

That year, she joins the school’s art club and wins second place in a city-wide competition. Grandma frames her award and puts it next to the flower painting.

Time passes by and now she's in her senior high. They’re sitting on the porch swing at sunset, watching fireflies dance in the garden. She’s telling Grandma about her plan to apply for scholarships abroad, her voice full of hope for the first time.

“I want to see places I’ve only painted,” she says, leaning her head on Grandma’s shoulder. “I want to make a life where I don’t have to be anyone’s shadow.”

Grandma wraps a blanket around them both. “Then go,” she says. “But remember—this will always be your home. No matter how far you go, you’ll always have a place here with me.”

She pulls out a small sketchbook and draws Grandma sitting on the swing, surrounded by fireflies. When she shows it to her, Grandma’s eyes fill with tears.

And now, it's her last year of her senior high, because in two weeks time, she'll finally graduate. The room is quiet now, filled with the soft beep of medical machines. Grandma lies in bed, her hands thin and pale, but her eyes are still bright.

She holds Grandma’s hand, her own shaking as she shows her the letter she’d just received—her scholarship abroad had been approved.

“I did it,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face. “Just like we talked about.”

Grandma smiles weakly, squeezing her hand. “I knew you would, mija. You’re stronger than you think… braver than your father ever was.” She reaches up with her free hand and touches the pendant around her neck—a small silver locket with a photo of her and the girl inside. “Take this. So you’ll always know you’re loved… always know you belong somewhere.”

That night, as she sits by Grandma’s bed, she pulls out her paintbrush and starts a new canvas. She paints the porch swing, the garden, the sunset—and in the middle, Grandma is smiling, holding her hand. She works until dawn, and when the sun rises, Grandma’s breathing has grown still.

She closes Grandma’s eyes gently, then clutches the locket to her chest. The home that had felt so warm and full for years now feels empty—just like that room in her mother’s house, but in a different way. This time, she’d known what it was like to be seen… to be loved.

She finishes the painting and hangs it on the wall above the sofa, right next to the flower one from grade seven. Then she packs her bags, the scholarship papers tucked safely inside. She has a life to build now—one Grandma would be proud of.