Chapter 12 - Rebecca Finally Said Why Hannah Threatened Her
Rebecca and I did not speak directly for almost four months.
Then our father had minor heart surgery.
Nothing catastrophic.
Enough to put all of us in the same hospital waiting room.
Rebecca sat across from me.
Without the twins beside her, she looked tired rather than formidable.
“You hate me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know what I feel.”
“She made the fellowship semifinal.”
I looked up.
“How do you know?”
“Mom.”
Of course.
Rebecca gave a small bitter laugh.
“She always tells everybody everything.”
I waited.
Then my sister said:
“Do you know what it was like raising Madison beside Hannah?”
I stared at her.
“No. Explain it.”
“Hannah never tried.”
“That’s not true.”
“You know what I mean. She never chased attention. She didn’t need people to tell her she was talented. Madison did.”
I understood something before Rebecca finished.
Madison had spent years needing applause.
Rebecca had spent years supplying it.
Then Hannah would walk into a room with a violin or a sketchbook and receive genuine interest without asking.
Rebecca experienced that not as Hannah succeeding.
As Madison losing.
“She would come home after family dinners furious,” Rebecca said. “Grandpa asked Hannah about orchestra. Grandma kept Hannah’s drawings on the refrigerator. You were always so proud of her.”
“And you weren’t proud of Madison?”
“Of course I was.”
“Then why wasn’t that enough?”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“Because Madison never believed it.”
That was the first time I heard sympathy for my niece beneath all the anger.
Rebecca had spent years manufacturing proof that Madison was exceptional because she feared her daughter could not tolerate feeling ordinary.
When she found Hannah’s designs, she told herself she was only helping Madison catch up to the confidence other kids already had.
One copied drawing became three.
Then applications.
Then the scholarship.
Once the lie became valuable, Rebecca protected it like property.
“You could have destroyed my daughter,” I said.
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
Rebecca looked down.
“Hannah asked Madison once why she hated her.”
“I remember.”
“Madison doesn’t hate Hannah.”
“That makes it worse.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Yes.”
No giant apology could fix it.
So none came.
Before Dad was discharged, Rebecca told me she had started individual therapy and family counseling with Madison.
I didn’t praise her.
Treatment is what people do after causing harm when they want to become safer.
May you like
It is not a medal.
Still, it was something.
