Maybe other oldest daughters did as much as I did without complaining.
Maybe wanting sleep, school, or an hour alone made me ungrateful.
But listening to her reduce years of my life to a few diapers broke the spell.
“Who gets up with them at night?” I asked.
She looked at me as though I had no right to speak.
“This is not the time.”
“Who cooks breakfast?”
“Stop.”
“Who knows which one needs an inhaler? Who knows which teacher hates late homework? Who cuts the crusts off Eli’s sandwiches because he won’t eat them otherwise? Who sleeps beside Rosie when she has nightmares?”
My voice shook, but I kept going.
“Who packed the hospital bag for your new baby?”
She said nothing.
The answer to every question was me.
The investigator closed the file halfway.
“There is also a statement from the hospital concerning the baby you are carrying.”
My mother’s hand flew to her stomach.
“My medical records are private.”
“Your private medical information is not the issue.
The issue is the discharge plan you gave the hospital social worker.”
I remembered the appointment.
My mother had made me skip a math test to accompany her because she said someone needed to take notes.
During the visit, a social worker asked who would help after delivery.
My mother pointed to me.
“My oldest daughter handles the children,” she had said proudly.
“She’ll take nights with the newborn so I can recover.”
The social worker had looked at my school uniform, then at my mother.
“How old is she?”
“Almost seventeen.”
I had been sixteen for only three months.
At the time, the woman wrote something down.
My mother complained about her attitude all the way home.
Now that note sat inside the sealed file.
The investigator read from it.
“Parent stated that minor daughter would provide overnight newborn care and daytime supervision for six siblings during recovery.
Minor appeared fatigued and did not speak when asked whether this arrangement was voluntary.”
My mother’s face hardened.
“Hospitals ask stupid questions.
Families help each other.”
“Support within a family is normal,” the investigator said.
“Replacing a parent with a child is not.”
My mother looked around the room, searching for someone she could still control.
She chose me.
Her voice softened.
“Think about your brothers and sisters.
They’re scared.
They miss you.
You know they settle down when you’re there.”
The guilt hit exactly where she intended.
I pictured Rosie standing beside my empty bed.
Eli asking who would make his lunch.
The baby crying because no one understood the rhythm that usually calmed him.
My mother saw my hesitation and stepped closer.
“Come home tonight,” she whispered.
“We can talk about school later.
I won’t be angry.”
