The Day My Daughter Chose Her Over Me - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Half-conscious, I imagined myself back in a hospital bed, waiting for Mom to arrive with her thermos, gently coaxing me awake. "Cora, sweetheart, time for some porridge. I made your favorite."
But reality hit hard when my eyes finally opened. Nolan's bloodshot gaze met mine, Jasper and Declan stared at me with confusion, and behind them—Lydia, putting on her most pitiful act.
Of course. The last people I wanted to see.
The moment I stirred, Nolan exhaled in relief—only to immediately tense again. "Cora, apologize to Lydia. Now."
Lydia ducked behind Jasper, tears streaming down her face like she was in some tragic drama. "Sister... I just want us to be a family. That's all. Please... don't let them treat me like this anymore..."
Declan had clearly had enough. He snapped at me, "How long are you gonna play the victim? You think faking a suicide attempt will make us forget what you did to Lydia?"
I was completely lost. What was she even accusing me of now?
Nolan's voice was icy. "Cora, you led Lydia somewhere isolated so those men could assault her. If someone hadn't passed by..." He clenched his jaw. "This time, Lydia gets justice."
From my angle, I caught Lydia's smirk—her triumphant wink, barely hidden.
What a performance. And the Nolan boys? Eating it up like always.
Then Jasper, silent until now, spoke. "She wouldn't do that. Cora doesn't attack women that way. And today? She wasn't faking. She meant to die."
Lydia's face twisted.
I stared at Jasper, stunned. He remembered. All those years ago, I'd told him: targeting a woman's dignity is the lowest form of revenge.
But what did it matter? This time, Lydia's scheme had barely scratched a crack in his memory. Next time? He'd forget all over again.
Declan scoffed. "Brother, you're too naive. When has she ever actually died with us watching? But Lydia's trauma is real. Everyone's talking about it. If you defend Cora, how is that fair to Lydia?"
Jasper went quiet.
Typical. When it came to Lydia, the Nolans always took her side. No questions asked.
But then—Declan surprised me. "Mom." The word was stiff, reluctant. "One last chance. Apologize to Lydia, and... I'll still call you Mom."
His eyes held something almost like hope.
I laughed—cold, hollow. "I'd rather die than apologize."
CRASH.
Nolan had hurled our family photo against the wall. That framed memory of us—me, Nolan, Jasper, Declan, all smiling—now lay in jagged shards on the floor.
"Cora." His voice shook. "You've broken my heart. Stay here until you're ready to admit what you've done."
The door slammed shut. Locked.
For days, I refused to eat.
Nolan sent my favorite meals—steaming plates carried in, untouched, carried out.
On the fourth day, the maid's scream pierced the silence.
Blood. So much blood. Pouring from my nose, my mouth, staining the sheets.
Nolan was away—of course—traveling with Lydia. Only Jasper and Declan remained.
Jasper brought in a renowned doctor, who examined me and sighed. "She's given up. Her body is shutting down from grief. If this continues... prepare yourselves."
Jasper's face darkened. Suddenly, he gripped my shoulders. "Mom. If this house is killing you, leave with me. We'll go somewhere else. Just... stay away from Dad and Lydia. I'll take care of you."
The absurdity almost made me laugh.
But his words dragged up a memory: Young Jasper, desperate to train at a distant martial arts academy. The Nolans refused—too hard, too far. So I packed our bags and went with him.
For years, I lived nearby while he trained. He thrived. Teachers praised him. Other parents whispered, "Aren't you afraid he'll surpass your real son?"
My answer never changed: "He is my son. The one who'll be there when I'm old."
Now? The irony tasted bitter.