"You've endured for twenty years, can't you hold on for a few more days? Patience is key; our plan is almost complete. After that, you can run off with him, and I won't care," my mother replied.
Plan? What plan?
I seized the moment and quietly slipped out.
I crept up behind them and said, "Mom, what are you talking about?"
My mother was clearly startled by me, and her face turned pale instantly.
"Olivia how did you get out here? I was just having a little chat with Oliva."
In all these years, she had rarely called me by my name. To her, it seemed I didn't deserve to share the name of her precious daughter.
What had I done wrong? I had come into this world first and spent more time with her than Oliva. Why was it that Oliva was the only daughter in her eyes? Was it just because she was the product of her first love?
Years ago, my mother had resolutely divorced my father, not only because he had failed in business and amassed debts, but for another important reason.
Oliva's father, Adams Reynolds, was her first love, her unforgettable first love.
Once Adams had divorced his first wife, my mother eagerly sought him out, and under her relentless pursuit, they got back together.