Chapter 4: The Weight of Pretending

After that, Natalie would often joke she wished my mom was hers. I never thought she’d actually go through with switching places.

“Aubrey, accept your fate. We’re stuck like this now.”

While I was still reeling, Natalie drained the last of the spiked milkshake and bolted toward the black Escalade waiting for me. Watching her run, I slowly shrugged on her old backpack, found her mom’s scooter among the crowd, and let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Great, I’ve finally escaped from my mom.

For the first time in years, I felt a strange lightness settle over my shoulders. The weight of never being enough, never being right, lifted—at least for a second.

“Natalie, did something good happen today?”

Natalie’s mom handed me a helmet. She wasn’t wearing makeup, just a pair of old slippers and a black coat. She looked a little thin, pale, but her eyes were especially gentle when she looked at me.

Her Midwest accent softened her words, and for a moment, I wondered if she could see through me.

“Yeah, just…something that’s been bothering me finally got fixed.”

I tried to put on the helmet, fumbling with the strap. My hands shook and my heart thudded. For a second, the weight of pretending to be someone else nearly crushed me. Noticing, Natalie’s mom stopped the scooter and fastened the helmet herself.

She didn’t scold me. Instead, she gave my nose a gentle pinch. “Why are you such a little kid? Sit tight.”

Her fingers were warm and rough from years of dishes and laundry. I sat back on the scooter, feeling my nose sting where she’d touched it.

Since I was ten, I’d been alone.

My mom was always flying somewhere, never picking me up, never letting me waste time on hugs or whining.

We hadn’t touched in years. Our conversations were all business: she gave orders, I carried them out. If I did well, she wired money. If not—punishment.

Just thinking about those punishments made me shiver. The fear was deep in my bones, spreading through my body.

There was never yelling—just cold, measured consequences: silent dinners, frozen accounts, the housekeeper quietly taking my favorite things away. I learned to act like the daughter she wanted.

I forced myself to calm down: Don’t be afraid. You’re Natalie now, not Aubrey. You’ll survive.