Burden

*-chapter fifteen-*

Groggily, I wake up from the couch, glancing at the time. Deciding it's best to clear my head, I make my way to the shower. As I ascend the stairs, my eyes catch a framed picture of me and Mum on the swing set. She looks genuinely happy, pushing me from behind. Dad wasn't there that weekend; John was the one capturing the moment. The contrast between then and now sends a pang through my chest, and I can't help but linger for a moment

******

"Muuuummm," I whine as a younger version of myself tugs on my mother's t-shirt while we walk to the park. "What?" she replies in a very assertive tone. "Why is he here? I wanted Dad to come."

"He's gone. he left becuause of you anyway, John wanted to spend time with us at the park today. It's nice to have friends," she says with a reassuring smile near the end. I look up at John, expecting him to agree or add something friendly.

John gives Mum a kiss on the cheek, smirking down at me. "Yeah, friends," he says with a tone that hints at amusement. I look up at him, my disappointment evident. He sighs and, with a condescending smirk, mutters, "Stop whining, you little brat. Always wanting more, always unhappy. Learn to enjoy what you have." His words sting, and I feel a lump forming in my throat, but I choose to keep silent, not wanting to escalate the situation.

Excitement bubbled within me as we arrived at the park, its vibrant atmosphere alive with the laughter of children and the distant sounds of playful animals. The sun painted the sky in hues of warm oranges and pinks, casting a golden glow over the lush greenery. Racing toward the swing sets, I could feel the anticipation building in every step, the soft grass beneath my feet adding to the sensory delight. The swing sets stood tall, their metallic frames gleaming in the sunlight, promising moments of joy and carefree delight. As we approached, the rhythmic creaking of swings in motion filled the air, a melodic backdrop to the joyful symphony of a perfect day at the park.

"MUMMY, COME PUSH ME ON THE SWING!" I yelled out, but when I received no response, I looked up, trying to find her. Once I did, my stomach started to feel funny. She was currently kissing John on the bench.

"Stop being such a needy brat, Maeve. Your mother has other things to do besides pushing you on the swing," John sneered, his words cutting through the air like a knife. I bit my lip, holding back the tears, as I turned away, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in my chest.

After a while of just playing around, I get bored, desperately wanting to go on the swing. I walk over to Mum, even though I know John's going to get mad. But I can't help it; Mum always pushes me on the swings. "Can you push me on the swing, Mum?" I ask, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

John, getting annoyed, mutters, "Can't you see we're busy? Go play by yourself."

I turn back to Mum, who seems torn between enjoying her time with John and fulfilling my request. After a while, she reluctantly agrees, and we head to the swing set. As I swing, I overhear John loudly talking behind my back, making derogatory remarks. It stings, but I try to focus on the joy of swinging.

After some time, Mum whispers something in John's ear, and they share a brief, quiet conversation. John smirks and says, "She's always such a bother, isn't she? Takes after her father." The words cut deep, but I remain silent.

"Come on, baby, we have better things to do," he mutters while holding onto my mother. My mother hasn't said a word yet but nods. I let tears brim in my eyes, wondering why she hasn't defended me. John pipes up with, "Stop being a crybaby, smile; I'm going to take a photo." The mix of emotions - the hurtful comments, the feeling of neglect, and now the forced smile for a photo - overwhelms me. I put on a fake smile, tears still glistening in my eyes, as John captures a moment that.