My mother is a pop icon, practically a legend who once dominated the American music charts for years. My older sister followed in her footsteps, clawing her way through the industry, winning awards for Mom, making her proud. She’s Mom’s everything. And then there's me. The quiet one, the little mute, the stain on Mom’s otherwise perfect life story she could never erase. To keep the world from finding out I existed, Mom locked me in the storage closet every day. She even told me, more times than I can count: "Why don't you just disappear." Eventually, I did. I died. And after that, my sister couldn't hit a single pure note anymore. And my mother, my arrogant, self-assured mother, she lost her mind. 1 The day I got locked in the little dark closet for the last time was the night of the Awards show – the finals where my sister, Victoria, was up for Artist of the Year. I curled up in the corner of the storage space, catching my reflection in a dusty old mirror. A skinny, frail girl with a sickly pale face stared back. Mom, Seraphina Reign, was a household name. After she retired from performing, she poured everything into grooming Victoria. And me? In her eyes, I was just the kid who stammered as a child and grew up… silent. A little mute. Locking me in the dark closet with just enough scraps to keep me alive was the best arrangement she could think of for me. Officially, she only had one daughter: Victoria Reign. Nobody knew Seraphina Reign had another daughter, a mute one named Lily. Mom couldn't stand the thought of the media finding out about me. It was humiliating for her. Suddenly, Mom flung open the closet door. She rummaged through shelves, picking out props for Victoria's performance tonight, not even glancing my way. I shrank further into the corner, terrified of making any sound that might annoy her. My throat felt tight, like something was stuck there. I swallowed hard, trying desperately not to cough. "What's wrong with your throat? Hacking like some stray dog?" Mom's sharp voice cut through the air, twisting my insides. "Must've done something terrible in a past life to end up with a mute kid like you. Thank God your sister takes after me, got more talent than I did at her age. Tonight, she's finally going to win it – the award I always dreamed of!" "Since you can't sing, you just stay put in here. Don't you dare let the press get a whiff of your existence!" She shot me a look filled with disgust, her words spat out through clenched teeth. I nodded quickly, clamping my hand over my mouth as a violent cough finally broke through. Seeing me cough uncontrollably, Mom muttered something about me being bad luck and slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place. I hid my hand behind my back, the palm now smeared with blood. My heart felt heavy, like a stone. 2 Mom told me not to leave the storage closet, but I still ended up backstage at Victoria’s final performance. Hidden away, of course. Inside a small equipment locker this time. While Victoria was getting her makeup touched up, a hand – elegant, with long fingers like polished jade – appeared at the locker's vent. She quickly shoved a bottle of water towards me. "For your throat," she whispered. I flinched, pressing myself deeper into the dark corner. Those beautiful hands… they'd held so many trophies, countless awards, delivered what the world thought were heavenly vocals. Those same beautiful hands had also gripped my arm countless times, bruisingly tight, while Victoria cried, begging me to lip-sync for her, to help her steal the title of the next big pop sensation. Victoria promised that if I helped her win Artist of the Year, she’d find a way to get me out of the closet, maybe even convince Mom to love me, just like she loved her. The thought of living in the sunlight, the fantasy of Mom holding me close with affection… I agreed without a second thought. All those secret nights spent practicing, straining my voice, were all for this moment – helping Victoria win the award Mom herself had craved. If Victoria won, wouldn't Mom be overjoyed? Maybe then… maybe she’d finally look at me? Right now, Mom was sitting on the judges' panel, beaming with pride at Victoria under the spotlight. And I was huddled in a dark locker, quietly sipping water to soothe my raw throat. Only Victoria knew I wasn't really mute. And definitely not tone-deaf. I'd inherited all of Mom's musical genius, born with a voice that was a gift. But tonight… I’d changed my mind. I wasn't going to give a perfect performance. Suddenly, I didn't want Mom to see her precious Victoria crowned. I didn't want the headlines screaming about the mother-daughter duo conquering the music world. I was dying anyway. Let me have this… Let me be selfish, just this once. 3 Victoria was scheduled to perform last, the grand finale. That was Mom's arrangement. "Save the best for last," she'd declared. "I lost out years ago because I went on first. Someone else got lucky with the votes." Mom was always like that – supremely confident, almost arrogant. Her talent was undeniable, so she bulldozed through the industry, never caring who she offended. Countless young artists had been crushed by her sharp tongue over the years. Even seasoned veterans weren't safe from her criticism. But that same confidence meant she never really listened to Victoria sing on her own. She had no idea that my sister, when actually singing, sounded like a rusty hinge. Oblivious, Mom had even crafted a ridiculous tagline for her: "Talks like a crow, sings like an angel." Twenty minutes before showtime, Mom swept into the dressing room, practically vibrating with nervous excitement. Even through the locker vent, I could feel her thrill. "Vicky, honey, don't be nervous. You've got this! It's in your blood, pure talent!" "A gift from God!" Then her tone shifted. "Not like Lily... Sometimes I wish I'd never bothered having her. Can't get rid of her, but can't stand looking at her!" My heart clenched violently. My throat felt like it was blocked with cement. "It would be so much better if she just… disappeared." My mind went blank. I couldn't believe my own mother would wish that. A bitter smile touched my lips. I fought back the urge to cough. Soon, Mom. Your wish is coming true. I'll be gone soon. My whole existence was a mistake, wasn't it? I won't be your burden much longer. Mom, after I'm dead, maybe then… maybe you could smile at me the way you smile at Victoria? Even if it's just at my picture, my grave, my ashes… Maybe the only right thing your daughter ever did was die. Three days ago, after helping Victoria lip-sync through the semi-finals, I actually got half a day off while we waited for the results. Clutching the fifty dollars Victoria had tossed me like charity, I wandered aimlessly, unsure where to go. Lately, the nosebleeds were constant, and my throat felt scratchy and tight, like tiny insects were crawling inside. I took that fifty dollars and walked into a free clinic. The doctor looked at me sympathetically. "Where are your parents? Maybe they should come in so we can talk." I looked down, mumbled, "Mom's with my sister." The doctor paused, then sighed, her expression full of pity. "Okay, honey. If you don't want your guardian here, I'll be straight with you." "All this intense singing, the constant strain… you've let this go for too long. Your voice… I'm afraid it's probably too late to save it. But if you start aggressive treatment now, maybe there's still a small chance—" I already knew, didn't I? It didn't matter if I had a fever, or felt sick. If Victoria had a performance, I had to be there, hidden away, singing my heart out for her. If it wasn’t for sheer natural talent, my voice would have given out long ago. I cut the doctor off, managing a weak smile. "Ma'am, could you just prescribe me some strong painkillers? It really hurts… I can't stand the pain anymore." With a look of deep sorrow, she gently nodded. On my rare half-day of freedom, I spent my entire fifty dollars confirming I had late-stage throat cancer. I really was going to become mute. And I really was going to die. 4 Victoria walked onto the stage, wearing the custom designer gown Mom had commissioned for her. Elegant and proud, she glided to the center stage spotlight. Mom’s grin stretched practically ear to ear. She leaned over, whispering excitedly to the judge next to her, listing off Victoria’s previous awards. I knew most of the judges found Mom annoying, but privately, they all acknowledged Victoria’s talent. No, my talent. The powerful, moody intro of the song filled my earpiece. Mom had chosen 'Cage' for Victoria's final performance. She’d told Victoria: "Even though you've had an easy life, your singing always has this undercurrent of pain, this complexity." "Singing this in the finals? It'll blow everyone away!" Mom wasn't wrong in her analysis; she was a musical genius, after all. But how could she, who had fought her way to the top, never wonder? How could she not suspect that a song sung with such raw, lived-in pain couldn't come from someone who hadn't experienced it? Mom, didn't you ever doubt? Victoria gave the subtle cue in my earpiece. I cleared my throat. "In the deep dark sea, a flicker of light, a dim temptation…" A hush fell over the audience. Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on Victoria, lost in the haunting, beautiful melody. From the judges' table, I saw Mom press a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, brimming with pride and adoration. Countless performances had perfected our synchronization. Victoria and I moved as one voice, hitting every pause, every breath perfectly. The song built towards its crescendo. The audience leaned forward, hearts suspended, waiting for the soaring climax, the moment the music would break free from the song's oppressive weight. Curled in the cramped locker, the lack of air and the awkward position made it hard to breathe. My mind flooded with images: years locked in the musty closet, Mom’s looks of disgust, her cruel words, my own fragile heart starved of any affection. The final notes faded into silence. The venue was utterly still for a beat, then erupted in thunderous applause. Judges leaped to their feet, clapping and shouting praise. Only Seraphina Reign, my mother, remained frozen in her chair, silent. I knew that look. She wasn't stunned speechless by joy. She knew. She knew the truth. 5 A single, mistimed breath. That tiny slip-up during the lip-sync. It might fool the general public, maybe even the other judges. But it wouldn't fool her. Not my mother, the legendary Seraphina Reign. I bet even Victoria didn't realize that the almost imperceptible pause in the final phrase, less than half a second long, would be the crack that let Mom see the truth. Victoria stood basking in the ovation, accepting the award, drunk on the roar of the crowd and the judges' effusive compliments. She was completely oblivious to Mom sitting rigid in her chair, her face darkening, eyes fixed on her like a hawk. Everyone's focus was on the stage. Victoria Reign had just won the coveted Artist of the Year award, the only one given out in the last three years, instantly becoming the dazzling new star of her generation. She had arguably surpassed her mother's legacy, achieving the one prize Seraphina had always wanted but never attained. Instantly, entertainment news outlets exploded. Headlines flew everywhere. The buzz even overshadowed the time Mom herself had fiercely defended American pop music against a wave of international artists years ago. Seraphina, never one to hide her feelings, looked like thunder. The air around her crackled with tension. She presented the award to Victoria with a face like stone, managing a clipped, icy comment: "Well done, Victoria. I suppose you'll be giving me singing lessons now." Victoria just smiled shyly, still unaware, and shot a proud little wink towards Mom at the judges' table. She had no idea the storm that was about to break. And Mom had no idea that the voice she revered, the voice that had bested even her own legacy, belonged to the daughter she despised most. I swallowed a painkiller. A hollow laugh escaped me. I'd won this round, maybe. But my heart felt utterly empty. 6 Night fell. I sat in the back seat of Mom's car. Tilting my head, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror – sallow skin, my nose raw and swollen from wiping away blood. The tension in the car was thick enough to cut. Victoria was rambling, trying to make excuses, to deny everything. Mom gripped the steering wheel, face an emotionless mask, her thoughts hidden. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes. Before I could react, she threw open my back door, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked me brutally downwards. Sharp pain shot through my scalp. The metallic taste of blood filled my throat again. Mom started hitting my head, screaming, cursing relentlessly: "You little bitch! You can sing? What the hell was all that mute crap? Were you playing me? Making a fool of your own mother?" "Was helping your sister lip-sync some kind of sick joke? Huh? Does it make you feel important?" I opened my mouth, forcing down the blood, trying to speak past the agony in my throat. "I didn't… I wasn't pretending… You said I had no talent… You never… never treated me like a daughter." My voice dwindled to a whisper. I broke free from her grip, collapsing onto the pavement, trying to scream out years of silent pain, pleading my case, venting my rage… But no sound came out. And no one was listening anyway. No one ever wanted to listen. More blood welled up in my mouth. I finally said it, I thought. I finally spoke up. But just like Victoria had warned me in secret, what difference did it make? Mom, see? Even now, you won't change how you see me. You're capable of love, just… not for me. Suddenly, my brain felt like it short-circuited, plunging me into a blinding white fog I couldn't escape. All the pain and tightness in my throat vanished. My body felt incredibly light, almost like floating. The last thing I heard, echoing endlessly in my mind, was Mom's voice: "Why couldn't you have just died sooner!?" Why not die sooner? Truth is, I did. My heart died… It died that winter, abandoned on a dark highway.
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