Stop Being A Pick-Me, Mom!

Synopsis

Lily Lancaster must have binged one too many Lifetime movies, because she gets it in her head that my entire existence is a plot against hers. The world is a stage, and we are rivals in a mother-daughter war she's completely invented. We are kidnapped and held captive in some godforsaken mountain cabin. The first chance I get, I plan our escape. But Lily tattles on me. As they drag me back, kicking and screaming, she just stands there, smugly unwrapping a lollipop with a smirk. "I'm not stupid," she sneers. "You just wanted to be the hero who got away. You were never going to let me have that, were you?" When she is snatched by a trafficking ring, I tear the city apart searching for her. But when I finally find her, the first thing she does is accuse me. "Stop playing the devoted mother," she yells. "This is just another one of your games. You probably wanted them to take me." When she turns eighteen, she brings home a boy. To help them get on their feet, I give them a substantial check. Lily's response is to auction my intimate photos on a dark corner of the internet. She screams, "Was trying to ruin my life for eighteen years not enough, Susan Mayfield? Now you have to try and buy my boyfriend to break us up?" And just like that, two decades of her poison drips into the ears of anyone who will listen. I am cast as the villain: a crazy, jealous mother. On my forty-fifth birthday, I buy a small birthday cake, the kind I've always wanted but never felt I deserved. When I get home, Lily snatches it and slams it onto the floor. "This is all your fault!" she shrieks. "If you weren't so obsessed with competing with Claire, maybe I would have a father! Maybe I wouldn't be so screwed up!" I stare at the crushed cake. Then, without a word, I turn and walk back to my room. I open my journal to a fresh page and write her name for the thirty-thousandth time. Beneath it, I add the day's entry. [November 19, 2025. Final diagnosis: Advanced Alzheimer's disease.] [My daughter's name is Lily. I must not forget her.]