Chapter 1The Diary Of The Eldest Daughter

After Naomi Parker, my eldest daughter, became successful, she cut ties with the family. My wife, Rachel, urged me to calculate how much money we spent on her so that she could repay us, including interest. While searching for paper and a pen to make the calculations, I stumbled upon Naomi's diary. It was filled with her grievances against the family. As I started reading, I found myself blaming her for being unreasonable and immature. But as I continued, I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling up with tears.

I have two daughters. Naomi, my eldest, was born to my ex-wife, Evelyn Harper, while Ella, my younger daughter, is the child of my current wife, Rachel. Ella was born premature and has always been frail and sickly.

Because of Ella’s delicate health, I often asked Naomi to take care of her younger sister. Most of Naomi’s complaints in her diary are about how I favored Ella. It started with small things, like buying Ella a Barbie Doll but not buying anything for Naomi, or only picking Ella up from school while leaving Naomi to walk home alone.

One entry, from when Naomi was twelve, stuck with me. It was her birthday. She understood that our financial situation was tight and knew that toys and dresses, if we ever bought them, would go to her younger sister, Ella, who was sick more often and still a child.

Naomi had her eye on a dress that wasn’t expensive, but she knew we wouldn’t buy it for her. So, she spent a whole year collecting bottles to save up enough money to buy that dress as a birthday gift for herself.

On her birthday, Naomi was thrilled to wear that beautiful dress, and Ella immediately became envious.

“That dress is so pretty, Naomi! Can I wear it too?” Ella asked.

Naomi's reaction was fierce. She hugged the dress protectively and snapped, "No! Dad and Rachel buy you all those toys and dresses, and this is the only one I have! Why do you always have to take what’s mine?"

Naomi’s lips trembled as she spoke, tears welling up in her eyes.

Seeing this, I felt a pang of sympathy for Ella, so I told Naomi, "Ella is your little sister. What’s wrong with letting her wear the dress for a few days?"

But Naomi stood her ground. "She’s never shared her toys or dresses with me. Why should I share mine?"

Her defiance made me furious, and my expression darkened. Ella tugged at my sleeve and said, "Dad, it’s okay. Don’t make Naomi upset. It’s my fault."

Ella was always so considerate, and I gently patted her head. "Ella, you're such a good girl."

But Naomi’s anger only grew. She glared at Ella. “It’s because of you I lost Dad’s love! You take all the toys and pretty dresses! I hate you!”

Ella's eyes welled with tears, and she started trembling, gasping for breath. “I’m sorry, Naomi! I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

As she cried, her breathing became more labored, and her face paled until, suddenly, she fainted. Her head hit the corner of the coffee table, and blood gushed from the wound.

Rachel immediately called an ambulance.

Furious, I kicked Naomi in the chest. “You know your sister is weak and can’t handle stress. It’s just a dress! How could you make her pass out over something so trivial?”

Naomi fell to the floor, clutching her chest in pain, her face contorted. Tears welled in her eyes as she sobbed, “Dad, Ella is your daughter, but aren’t I your daughter too?”

“Is it so wrong to want to keep my own dress?”

I was too angry to hear reason. I raised my hand again, shouting, “After what you did to your sister, you dare talk back to me?”

Naomi, terrified, started trembling, biting her lip as her eyes filled with tears.

Rachel grabbed my arm. “Don’t! She didn’t mean to, Donovan.”

At that moment, Ella regained consciousness and, weakly, tried to explain, “Dad, don’t blame Naomi. It was my fault for fainting.”

I rushed to Ella’s side, cradling her gently. “You’re hurt so badly, Ella, and still you defend her? Naomi doesn’t care about you at all.”

From the corner of the room, Naomi sat curled up, watching us with tear-filled eyes.

After that incident, my relationship with Naomi visibly deteriorated. She never initiated conversations with me again, and her smiles became rare. Whenever she looked at me, her eyes were filled with fear and mistrust.

That was the first time I hit her, and afterward, I regretted it. It was just children being children. How could I, as an adult, lose control like that? But as a parent, I couldn’t bring myself to apologize.

From that point in her diary onward, Naomi’s entries became more frequent, almost daily. It seemed that every time she saw me, she was reminded of that day, and every little thing would make her sad again.