Chapter 4: The Name Hidden In The Records
“Ava, are you still there?””
Dr. Anderson’s voice pulled me back from the silence.
I was standing in the hallway, staring at my mother through the kitchen doorway. Karen was pretending to organize the mail, but I knew she was listening.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Dr. Anderson took a breath.
“The name connected to the previous record is Emily Mitchell.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Emily.
I had heard that name before.
Not often.
But enough.
There was an old photo tucked inside my mother’s bedroom drawer. A girl with the same dark hair as me, smiling beside Karen when they were younger.
When I asked who she was, my mother always changed the subject.
“Just someone from my past.””
That was all she ever said.
“Who is Emily?”” I asked.
Dr. Anderson lowered her voice.
“She was a student at Westbridge University seventeen years ago.””
My heart started pounding.
“Seventeen years ago?””
“Yes. She received a scholarship offer from our program. A full academic scholarship.””
I looked toward my mother.
She was no longer pretending to sort papers.
She was watching me.
“What happened to her?”” I asked.
There was a pause.
“Her enrollment was withdrawn before she attended.””
I swallowed.
“Why?””
Dr. Anderson hesitated.
“Because someone submitted a request on her behalf.””
My stomach dropped.
“Someone?””
“Yes. A family member.””
The kitchen suddenly felt smaller.
The walls felt closer.
I walked upstairs slowly, trying not to let my mother see how shaken I was.
“Dr. Anderson, are you saying my mother did this before?””
“I’m saying the records show a similar situation.””
My voice became quieter.
“Did Emily ever go to college?””
“No.””
The answer broke something inside me.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t just thinking about myself anymore.
I was thinking about a girl who had once stood where I was standing.
A girl who had dreams.
A girl whose future disappeared.
I ended the call and sat on my bed.
For several minutes, I just stared at the wall.
Then I opened my laptop.
I searched through old family photos.
There she was.
Emily.
My mother’s younger sister.
My aunt.
I remembered asking about her when I was ten.
“Why don’t we ever see Aunt Emily?””
My mother had smiled and said:
“She made bad choices.””
At the time, I believed her.
Now I wondered what “bad choices” really meant.
That evening, I confronted Karen.
She was making dinner when I walked into the kitchen.
“Who is Emily?””
The knife in her hand stopped moving.
Slowly, she looked up.
“What?””
“Emily Mitchell.””
Her face changed instantly.
Not confusion.
Fear.
“Where did you hear that name?””
“So you do know who she is.””
Karen placed the knife down.
“Ava, this is not something you need to involve yourself in.””
I laughed.
“That’s funny. You involved yourself in my entire future.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“Be careful.””
“No. I want answers.””
Karen looked toward the living room where my siblings were watching television.
“Not in front of the kids.””
“Why? Because they might hear what happened?””
Her expression hardened.
“You don’t know anything.””
“Then tell me.””
She walked closer.
“Emily was irresponsible.””
“Was she?””
“Yes.””
“Or did someone make decisions for her?””
Karen became silent.
That silence told me more than words could.
I stepped back.
“You did the same thing to me.””
“No.””
“Yes.””
She shook her head.
“You are different.””
“How?””
“Because you are stronger.””
I stared at her.
“That doesn’t make it okay.””
Karen looked exhausted suddenly.
For a moment, I saw something behind her anger.
Regret.
But it disappeared quickly.
“You think leaving makes you successful?”” she asked.
“No. I think having a choice makes me human.””
She looked away.
Then she said something I would never forget.
“Emily left this family because she was selfish.””
I froze.
Because she said it exactly the way she talked about me.
The same words.
The same accusation.
The same punishment.
I walked upstairs that night knowing one thing.
My mother had a pattern.
And I needed to know how many lives she had changed before mine.
The next morning, I found an old envelope hidden inside my closet.
It had my name written on it.
But the handwriting wasn’t mine.
May you like
And inside was a letter from Emily that started with one sentence:
*“If Karen ever tries to take your future away, you need to know the truth.””*
