I Exchanged Mothers in the Lake

When I was ten, my family brought my older sister home.

Mother said, "She has always been delicate, so we had to raise her at a mountain retreat for her health." "Your temperament is too domineering.

We are changing your name, just to yield to her a little." And so, I became Gill.

When it came time for our debutante season and betrothals, my sister set her eyes on Lady Beatrice's son, Henry.

My brother said, "She has always been the good one, never asking for anything." "Lord Henry favors you, so restrain yourself.

Let her have this one." On the day of the introduction, everything went wrong. Both my sister and I fell into the lake during the boating party.

When I woke up, the doctor said I had lost my memory. "Gill," Lady Beatrice said, holding my hand by the bedside. "I'm your mother." I stayed silent for a moment, then whispered, "Mother." 01 I wasn't always called Gill.

When I was eight, my parents brought Charlotte back to our estate. It was Easter. The Governor had gifted our family an exquisite silver rabbit statue, crafted by a master jeweler.

My father, flushed with wine, decided to host our annual parlor game—a classic poetry recitation contest. "With 'Light' as our theme, whoever can recite the next stanza without faltering wins the silver rabbit." I had a photographic memory, sharp and relentless.

After five rounds, my brother Elliot was out. At the end, only Charlotte and I remained.

She spoke in a tiny, trembling voice, flushing with embarrassment, unable to recall the next verse.

Young and arrogant, I laughed. "Then the silver rabbit is mine!" Charlotte didn't say a word. Her eyes just filled with tears, and a heavy drop spilled down her cheek.

The laughter in the room died.

My mother reacted first, pulling her into her arms. "Oh, my sweet girl." Charlotte buried her face in Mother's neck, sobbing. "She just couldn't remember a verse," I said, genuinely confused. "Why is she crying?" No one answered me.

They all crowded around her.

Elliot offered his handkerchief. "It's just a decorative piece," Father sighed, rubbing his temples. "Why don't you let your sister have it?" "Why?!" I yelled. "I won it fair and square." Ever since Charlotte arrived, her allowance was larger, and she got the best room in the east wing. "I won't give it up," I cried, years of quiet resentment bubbling over. "It's mine." "Quiet!" Mother snapped. "Always so aggressive, always needing to win.

You have no compassion." Her eyes were freezing cold. "Victoria, you disappoint me." That was the last time she ever called me Victoria. 02 "Smack." The wooden ruler struck my palm.

It burned like fire.

Mother sat in her highbacked chair. "Do you admit your mistake?" "I did nothing wrong," I said stubbornly. "I won it honestly." "Smack." Another strike cut through the air, the pain so sharp I gasped. "What did I do wrong?" I asked through tears. "Why do I have to yield to her?" "Because she is your sister!" Mother said. "She was born sickly.

We had to send her to a private sanctuary in the hills just so she would survive." "She was away from us for years, suffering.

What is so hard about giving her this one small thing?" I looked down, sniffing, fighting back the tears. "First you tried to outdo Elliot in everything, and now you must compete with Charlotte." Mother sighed. "Why must you be so stubborn?" My vision blurred.

A suffocating tightness gripped my throat. But then, Mother set the ruler down. She reached out, took my hands, and pulled me into her lap.

Her familiar, lavender scent enveloped me. She looked down, gently stroking my red, swollen palm. She rarely held me like this.

This simple embrace washed away all my anger. "The vicar was right. The day Charlotte returned, he said your spirits would clash." "Charlotte is fragile.

Your presence is too demanding, too loud.

I've been thinking about changing your name." I looked up, tears finally spilling over. "True grace lies in restraint, in leaving room for others.

From now on, your name is Gill." Mother stroked my hair. "You must learn that in this life, you cannot demand absolute fulfillment." 03 In the end, neither Charlotte nor I got the silver rabbit.

It was placed on the mantelpiece in the grand hallway, right outside Charlotte's bedroom.

Every afternoon, when I finished my tutors' lessons and walked down the corridor, I would see that silver rabbit, and I would hear the laughter coming from her room.

Elliot's boisterous laugh: "Charlotte, you lost again!

No cheating!" Mother's soft chuckle: "This sweet girl is so clever, always keeping us on our toes." Sometimes even Father's rare, quiet laugh.

Before her marriage, Mother had been a senator's beloved daughter, showered with affection. Now, her love was the center of our household.

Wherever she turned, that was where the warmth went. At first, I tried to join them. The first time, I noticed Charlotte's room had twice as many maids as mine.

Walking back in the shadows, I told myself: "She is weak. She needs the care." The second time, I noticed the peaches brought to her room were sweeter than mine.

Under the moonlight, I thought: "Maybe I just picked a bad one." The third time, I saw Charlotte wearing a beautiful pearl hairpin I had never seen before. Had Father bought it?

Or Elliot? I stopped in my tracks. A design that exquisite, crafted with such delicate care—only Mother could have chosen it.

I looked down at the paper lantern in my hand, its base crumpled from where I had gripped it too hard. It felt like my heart. Why didn't Mother give one to me?

I asked myself, over and over. Why never me? 04 The last time I went to Charlotte's room was on her fourteenth birthday.

Years of careful nurturing and expensive doctors had restored her health.

Yet, when I walked in wearing my riding habit, she was draped in a thick wool shawl, despite the warm early summer air. "Riding again?" Charlotte's voice carried a sharp edge. "Elliot told me you even managed to hunt a deer." Society was modernizing; girls riding and hunting was no longer scandalous.

Happy about my ride, I smiled, ignoring her tone. "Just luck." My seat was right next to hers.

As I sat down, Charlotte suddenly pressed her handkerchief to her mouth and turned away, retching. Mother gasped.

I stood up quickly. "Do my clothes smell of sweat?" "You know your sister is delicate," Mother frowned. "Why would you come here dressed like that?" Charlotte didn't speak.

When she looked up, her eyes were red, tears brimming. "I... I've ruined the mood," Charlotte sobbed, pushing her maid away as she fled the room. Everyone froze.

Elliot was the first to react. "I'll fetch the doctor." A cold rain fell that night. The lamps in Charlotte's room stayed lit, servants hurrying back and forth.

At midnight, Mother came to my room, smelling of herbal tonic. "You are not to go riding anymore," Mother said immediately. "And do not wear those riding clothes in front of your sister." "Why?" I asked, incredulous. "Did she fall ill just because I rode a horse?!" "Yes," Mother said, her face expressionless. "Because you went riding." "You know Charlotte can barely leave her room, let alone ride.

Today, seeing you so free and happy made her spiral. She coughed up blood. Can you not just restrain yourself for once?" The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Thunder rumbled outside.

Suddenly, I laughed out loud. "Because she is sick, I cannot even ride a horse?" I stared into Mother's eyes. "If she dies tomorrow, do I have to die right along with her?!" "Smack." Mother's hand struck my face. 05 My head snapped to the side.

My hairpin flew off, and loose hair fell over my face.

The ringing in my ears was followed by a sharp, throbbing pain. "Silence!" Mother's hand and body were shaking. "How can you say something so malicious?" "Am I the malicious one?" I cried, my tears thick with hatred. "You tell me to yield, and I must yield.

You tell me to endure, and I must endure." "Is Charlotte the only daughter who matters? Am I nothing to you?" Mother said nothing. The shadows of the candlelight hid her expression.