Her blond hair had been smoothed back, and she had on bright red lipstick that only made her appear paler. She still wore my father's red silk robe, the same way she had since the day he died, but she added a necklace and black heels, as if that would make the outfit appropriate.
No one commented on it, but everyone was too busy staring at my performance. I had complained about every single gift I had gotten. They were all dolls or ponies or some other thing I would never play with.
My mother came into the room, stealthy gliding through the guests to where I sat. I had torn through a box wrapped in pink teddy bears, containing yet another porcelain doll. Instead of showing any gratitude, I started yelling about what a stupid present it was.
Before I could finish, her hand slapped me sharply across the face.
“You are not my daughter,” my mother said, her voice cold. My cheek stung from where she had hit me, and I gaped at her.
The maid quickly redirected the festivities, but the idea percolated in my mother's mind the rest of the afternoon. I think when she said it, she meant it the way parents do when their child behaves appallingly. But the more she thought, the more it made sense to her.
After an afternoon of similar tantrums on my part, someone decided it was time to have cake. My mother seemed to be taking forever in the kitchen, and I went to check on her. I don't even know why she was the one getting the cake instead of the maid, who was far more maternal.
On the island in the kitchen, a massive chocolate cake covered in pink flowers sat in the middle. My mother stood on the other side, holding a gigantic knife she used to cut and serve the cake onto tiny saucers. Bobby pins were coming loose from her hair.
“Chocolate?” I wrinkled my nose as she tried to set perfect pieces onto the saucers.
“Yes, Wendy, you like chocolate,” my mother informed me.
“No, I don't!” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I hate chocolate! I'm not going to eat it, and you can't make me!”
“Wendy!”
The knife happened to point in my direction, some frosting sticking on the tip, but I wasn’t afraid. If I had been, everything might've turned out different. Instead, I wanted to have another one of my tantrums.
“No, no, no! It’s my birthday, and I don't want chocolate!” I shouted and stomped my foot on the floor as hard as I could.
“ You don't want chocolate?” My mother looked at me, her blue eyes wide and incredulous.
A whole new type of crazy glinted in them, and that’s when my fear started to kick in.
“What kind of child are you, Wendy?” She slowly walked around the island, coming towards me. The knife in her hand looked far more menacing than it had a few seconds ago. “You’re certainly not my child. What are you, Wendy?”
Staring at her, I took several steps back. My mother looked maniacal. Her robe had fallen open, revealing her thin collarbones and the black slip she wore underneath. She took a step forward, this time with the knife pointed right at me. I should’ve screamed or run away, but I felt frozen in place.
“I was pregnant, Wendy! But you’re not the child I gave birth to! Where is my child?” Tears formed in her eyes, and I just shook my head. “You probably killed him, didn’t you?”
She lunged at me, screaming at me to tell her what I did with her real baby. I darted out of the way just in time, but she backed me into a corner. I pressed up against the kitchen cupboards with nowhere to go, and she wasn’t about to give up.
“Mom!” Matt yelled at her from the other side of the room.
Her eyes flickered with some recognition, the sound of the son she actually loved. For a moment, I thought it might stop her, but it only made her realize she was running out of time, so she raised her knife.
Matt dove at her but not before the blade tore through my dress and slashed across my stomach. Blood stained my clothes as pain shot through me, and I sobbed hysterically. My mother fought hard against Matt, unwilling to let go of the knife.
“She killed your brother, Mathew!” my mother insisted, looking at him with frantic eyes. “She’s a monster! She has to be stopped!”