They Chose Her Over Me—Then Begged Me to Remember Them Chapter 09
Della finished laughing, then started crying again.
“Mom, I never had a real family growing up. You people are the only ones who ever took me in.”
“I know I was wrong. Please… give me one more chance…”
Desmond cut her off, cold/”What good does saying that do now?”
He held the phone up in front of her face. “This video’s already gone to the police.”
Miles spoke, one word at a time.
“Intentional assault. Fabricating evidence. Causing another person to be forcibly committed and to suffer irreversible bodily harm.”
“Under the law, that’s aggravated assault!”
The color drained completely from Della’s face.
“No… this isn’t my fault! I only slapped her once!”
“You people are the ones who had her committed! You’re the ones who wouldn’t go get her out!”
“The hospital’s the one that did the surgery! What does that have to do with me?!”
Desmond ignored her.
“The night Rosalind was admitted, you’re the one who signed the request for a psychiatric evaluation.”
“You’re the complainant. You’re the one who accused her of intentional assault.”
“Without your accusation, none of the rest of this happens.”
Della’s mouth opened and closed. She couldn’t form a coherent sentence anymore.
The wail of police sirens drifted in from outside.
Two police officers came up the stairwell.
“Della Sutter?”
“Come with us.”
Della backed away, hit the wall, and started pounding on it like she’d lost her mind.
“Mom! Mom, help me! I don’t want to go to prison! Mom!!”
Nobody moved.
Her voice grew fainter, farther away, until there was nothing at all.
Three months later, the case went to trial.
Della was sentenced to four years in prison.
At sentencing, she sobbed so hard she could barely stand, calling out “Mom, I’m sorry” over and over.
Miles came by once.
He left an envelope at the door-didn’t ring the bell, just turned and walked away.
Desmond opened it. Inside was a document.
Miles had transferred a property under his name into mine.
A note was attached. Just one line:
[I could never repay this in one lifetime.]
Mom resigned as Chief of Psychiatry.
Her resignation letter was a single sentence:
[I couldn’t even tell whether my own daughter was sick. I have no right to call myself a doctor anymore.]
She spent all her time with me after that.
Cooking for me every day, trying one dish after another:
Slow-braised short ribs. Honey-glazed salmon. Honey vanilla pound cake.
I ate all of it.
None of it tasted like anything.
She’d ask if it was good. I’d say “I didn’t know.”
She’d turn away, stand in the kitchen a while.
When she came back out, her eyes would be red.
One night, Mom sat at my bedside and sang to me.
An old lullaby.
Her voice kept breaking.
Halfway through, she couldn’t go on, and collapsed against the edge of the bed, crying.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling.
I felt nothing at all.
Desmond stood in the doorway, his eyes red-rimmed.
“It’s okay. Take your time.”
“We’re not going anywhere. We’ll wait as long as it takes.”
I didn’t know what “waiting” meant.
But that woman crying at my bedside, and that man smiling in the doorway—
There was something in the way they looked at me. Something I couldn’t name.
I didn’t know what it was called.
But it felt warm.
Like, a long, long time ago, someone had looked at me that way too.
I couldn’t quite remember.
But it seemed… it had happened before.
