As she stood by the archway, Sayori glared as her mother searched through the cabinets—the phone to her ear. Yolanda was whispering, but she couldn't make out what her mother was saying.
"Put her wallet back," Sayori spoke, causing her mother to jump, "There is nothing in there for you."
"I'm getting her cards to pay her bills, Sayori," Yolanda lied—Sayori knew simply because she didn't blink, "Is that a crime?"
"It is a crime when you know I have been paying her bills since I was eighteen," She shifted her weight to the opposite leg, "You can give that to me."
"You are my daughter," Yolanda pointed to herself, "Not the other way around."
"I am not," She stated cold heartedly, as she took the wallet from her, "You can see your way out. She's asleep and I do not need you bothering her."
Sayori and Yolanda had never truly built a relationship. Yolanda became neglectful after Sayori's father was sent away. As a child, she used to believe that she'd done something wrong—but quickly learned that her mother was selfish and never planned on taking care of her.
During her earlier years, Sayori tried to force a relationship with Yolanda, but she was not having it. She only used Sayori for her benefit—getting recognized and getting credit for Sayori's accomplishments, when it was never hers to claim.
"No wonder I never wanted you," Yolanda spat as Sayori smiled angrily, "Get over yourself, Sayori. You'll never be me."
"Who would want to, Yolanda?" She tilted her head to the side, "Do not come back here unless it is to see Nana. But I know you won't even do that."
"That isn't my job," Yolanda scoffed, "I didn't want to take care of you. Why would I take care of her?"
Sayori clenched her fist as anger began to rise throughout her body, "You can leave."
"Gladly," Yolanda smiled, brushing past Sayori. Her eyes followed as she slammed the door shut, but Sayori remained unmoved. She couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes, but she knew she shouldn't expect anything different.
"You better not shed one tear, Amala," She heard her grandmother's voice, causing her to turn her head, "She does not deserve it, baby."
"I'm sorry, Nana," Sayori sighed, wiping underneath her eye. She knew her grandmother had been standing there and heard everything, "I'm so sorry."
"There is nothing to be sorry for, Yori," Annie smiled at her granddaughter, "When you get my age, you learn who and what to dedicate your time to. I'll always love my daughter, even if she doesn't feel the same for me."
"But she should," Yori stressed, guiding her grandmother to the couch, "You've done everything for her and she can't even—"
"No," Annie interjected, "That was my job as her parent, Yolanda is not obligated to do anything for me. I brought her into this world—I was supposed to love, care and nurture her. What she decides to do with that, is on her."
Sighing, Sayori sat next to Annie—glancing at the large picture of Annie and herself. At two years old, Sayori smiled directly in the camera as Annie's hands rested around her. The gold, traditional bracelet and earrings hung from Sayori's wrist and ears. Annie mimicked Sayori's smile—bright and friendly.
"Girl, I almost wanted to fight you on that day," Annie laughed, as she reached for the photo, "You did not want to act right at all!"
"Are you sure you're talking about me, Nana?" Sayori placed her hand on her chest as Annine nodded, "I always acted right for pictures!"
YOU ARE READING
IN EVERY SEASON.
General Fiction"In life, we form bonds and relationships with those who've never experienced themselves in all seasons of life-at their highest and lowest points, in grief and sadness, happiness and anger. We expect people to know themselves coming into our lives...
