Silver Lining

twelve.

I was six years old when I realised my family wasn't normal compared to others. I'd wait by the gates at school for my nanny who was always late with my baby sister in toe, while I watched my friends being greeted with hugs and kisses by their moms and dads, asking how their day was and promising trips to the park. We'd come home, I'd do my homework, eat in silence while the adults talked and then go to bed until everything repeated again the next day.

Our parents neglected us of love since the moment we were born; we were tossed aside to a nanny, whose responsibility was to keep us quiet and away. I found comfort in Julia, she gave us love and she cared about us, but there are simply no words to describe the heartache of being a child who received no love at all from the two people in the world who are supposed to.

It's always hard for me to see a loving family; it breaks my heart to question why they have what I always wanted, and meeting a family as great as Nathan's has brought up everything I thought I'd buried deeply.

Nathan has so many friends and family who love him, which for these babies is a blessing, but I feel so isolated like I have no one in my corner. I've heard near to nothing from Isabelle since I moved in with Nathan; the last time I spoke to my sister, Amelia, was almost two years ago, and I just wish everything was so different.

I never looked back after I left for college, I've seen and heard from my parents a handful of times since, and it's been the best six years of my life because of that, but God, what I'd do to hear from my mother and have a normal conversation; something I've always craved but never had.

To call her, and tell her she's going to be grandmother; I wish I had the type of mother whom I could share this journey with and receive support, but I know I don't. Does it stop me from the itching possibility that she may have changed? I have her contact loaded on my phone, no 'Mom', 'Mommy' or 'Mother', just Dianne Rhodes. I know I'm going to regret it, but God, do I feel so alone right now.

I bring the phone up to my ear as it dials, my heart pounding to the same rhythm, and a tear falls when I hear her voice, "Iris?"

"Yeah, it's me," I answer, feeling a loss of words.

"You haven't called in so long, I thought we'd never hear from you," she says, her voice normal, but I roll my eyes anyway. It's always been a basis that I'm the one who needs to call and put in the effort, it's never them.

"Yeah, it's been pretty hectic lately," it's an understatement of the century.

"For sixteen months?" she questions.

"The phone works both ways, mother, you could have called too," I point out, and that silences her because she knows I'm right, "I met someone, though, we're living together." It's not a lie, but is it the complete truth? No, it's far from it.

"Is he rich?" she asks like that's the only thing that matters.

I sigh, because yes he is, but that's nothing to do with our situation, "He's comfortable, yes, but that doesn't matter to me."

"I don't know how it doesn't, you were brought up better than to think that," she says it like that's a good thing, and I laugh.

"You're not happy, so you know no better than to think money is better," I point out.

"Iris Marie Rhodes," she scolds me and I only lay down, to get comfortable, "Your father makes me very happy, the estate is-"

"No, forget about the estate, the business, the clothes, if that all went away, you'd still be happy?" I receive silence because she knows I'm right and that beyond it, she isn't happy at all, "We're different people with different opinions, mom; I'd be happy if we lived in a tent and I empathise massively that you'll never know how that feels."