They Chose Her Over Me—Then Begged Me to Remember Them Chapter 01
After ninety-nine days locked in Blackwood Psychiatric Hospital, I was told I could be discharged early for good behavior.
When Mom found out, her voice went cold on the phone.
“I’m the Chief of Psychiatry. I have to avoid any appearance of favoritism.”
“If I show up myself to sign you out, what do you think people would say?”
“I’ll be honest with you—I’m the one who signed the papers to have you committed in the first place.”
“Della hit you first, yes, but you shoved her to the floor!”
“She’s your adoptive sister. How could you do that to her?”
The line went dead.
My hands were shaking as I dialed my brother’s number.
Before I could say a word, Desmond sighed.
“Rosalind, I back Mom’s decision one hundred percent.”
“And I’m a child development expert. If word got out that I went and pulled my own sister out of a psychiatric hold, how would that look for me professionally?”
“Once you learn to get your emotions under control, we’ll come get you.”
The line went dead again.
I sank into the corner, freezing all over, and dialed the last number I had.
Miles—my boyfriend since childhood—picked up. His voice was flat, like I was a stranger.
“Rosalind, I was the one who submitted the psychiatric evaluation application for intentional injury on Della’s behalf.
“I’m her attorney of record. I have to avoid a conflict of interest too, so I can’t come get you.”
“Your condition right now genuinely needs treatment. Once you come around next month, I’ll go with your family to pick you up.”
I stood there gripping the receiver, laughing until I cried.
I wasn’t going to make it to next month.
Next Wednesday was the deadline for my mandatory observation period.
Any patient not collected by a legal guardian by that date would undergo a standardized procedure: a prefrontal lobotomy.
I saw the people who’d already had it done. Every day.
They didn’t yell. They didn’t cry. They didn’t remember anyone.
Alive. But already dead.
…
By the time I hung up, my hands were trembling too hard to hold the receiver steady.
“All done?”
The staff member orderly leaned against the doorframe, not even bothering to look up.
“Did your guardians confirm they’re coming to get you?”
I opened my mouth, my voice cracking.
“They said… next month…”
“Next month?”
She gave a short laugh. “Your observation period ends next Wednesday.”
“If nobody signs you out before Wednesday, you’re not getting discharged.”
“You’re getting surgery.”
My knees buckled. Two orderlies were already standing behind me.
“Time’s up. Back to your room.”
They gripped my arms and dragged me back down the hall.
It was long, and unnervingly quiet.
We passed Room 201. The door was half open. A man sat on the edge of his bed, grinning at the wall, poking the same spot in the air over and over with one finger.
We passed Room 203. A woman sat cross-legged on the floor, tracing circles into the tile with her fingernail—the nail worn down to raw skin, leaving faint pink streaks of blood.
We passed Room 205. Someone lay flat on their back, staring at the ceiling, eyes unmoving, like a living corpse.
They’d all had the surgery.
“I don’t want to go back! I don’t want the surgery!”
I fought against them with everything I had, clawing at the doorframe.
“Behave!”
The orderly yanked my arm.
“Keep this up and you’re getting the restraints!”
Last week a patient had gotten a little too worked up and been strapped down.
Seven days flat on the bed—eating, sleeping, everything, right there. Couldn’t even turn over.
I bit down on my lip and let them walk me the rest of the way without a sound.
When we passed the common room, the TV was on.
My feet stopped moving on their own.
On screen, Mom stood in her white coat beneath the hospital’s sign, being interviewed by a reporter.
“As Chief of Psychiatry, my duty is to protect the safety of every member of the public.”
“Even if she’s my own daughter—if she shows violent tendencies, I will not cover for her.”
“That’s my bottom line. And it’s my promise to this community.”
Standing beside her was my adoptive sister, Della Sutter.
Her eyes were rimmed red, her voice soft and trembling.
“I don’t blame Rosalind… she’s just sick… I’ll wait for her to get better.”
Live comments scrolled across the bottom of the screen:
[Now THAT’S what real compassion in medicine looks like.]
[Della is such a sweetheart—her own sister attacked her and she’s still defending her!]
[A doctor this selfless is a blessing to the whole community!]
An orderly tugged my arm. “Let’s go. Nothing to see.”
I was shoved forward, stumbling, the applause from the television still ringing in my ears.
Back in my room, the door locked behind me.
I curled into a ball in the corner. My head was full of that day.
It was my birthday. I’d come home early to order a cake.
I opened the door and heard Della on the phone in the living room.
Her back to me, her voice light and easy.
“Desmond’s so good to me. Don’t worry, this family’s going to be mine eventually.”
I stood in the entryway without a sound.
She hung up, turned around, saw me.
For a second she froze. Then she walked over slowly.
“Mom and Dad paid for all those years of school, and you still haven’t made anything of yourself compared to me.”
Then she raised her hand and slapped me across the face, hard.
“You’re such a waste. Mom and Dad are going to throw you out eventually anyway!”
I clapped a hand to my cheek, shaking with fury, and shoved her.
Just once.
She stumbled back two steps and fell to the floor.
Horrified, I lunged to help her up.
She screamed instead.
“Help! Rosalind’s trying to kill me!”
By the time Mom and Desmond burst in, all they saw was Della on the floor and me standing over her.
No one asked me a single question.
That same night, I was committed here.
I sat on the metal bed hugging my knees, listening to the sound of a gurney’s wheels rolling down the hall in the distance.
Someone else was being wheeled in tonight.
Everyone who gets wheeled in comes out having learned to behave.
They don’t cry. They don’t cause trouble. They don’t lose their temper. They don’t scream in pain.
Nurses tell them to take their pills, they take them. Tell them to sleep, they sleep.
But there’s nothing left behind their eyes.
They don’t know their own names. Don’t remember if they have a family. Don’t know what day it is.
Alive. But already dead.
And next Wednesday, that gurney would be stopping outside my door.
