Chapter 3I Was Born To Replace Her

Hannah’s crying and screaming went on for what felt like hours.

Finally, Grandma Ruth lost all patience. She grabbed Hannah by the arm and began dragging her toward the door.

"That's enough! Your mother just gave birth. She's weak, and you're here howling like a banshee. Do you want to kill her? You're coming with me."

But Hannah didn't care about the physical pain. She dug her heels into the floor, desperately grabbing onto the doorframe.

"Dad! Mom! Answer me!" she pleaded, her eyes searching theirs. "I'm not a ruin, right? Tell me I'm not!"

My father opened his mouth, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face, but Grandma Ruth yanked her out before he could speak.

The heavy front door clicked shut. The apartment fell into a profound, hollow quiet.

My mother looked down at me, forcing a tired smile. "At least our little Gracie is good. Look at her, so quiet and sweet. Such a good baby."

She let out a long sigh. "If only your sister had half your temperament. They're raised in the same house, so how can they be so different?"

My father walked over, his fingers gently tracing the red marks on my neck.

"That little psycho," he muttered, his voice darkening. "She actually tried to hurt a baby. Why couldn't she take it out on me? Why does she have to be so vicious?"

His anger simmered, hardening into resentment. "When she comes back, I'm going to teach her a lesson she won't forget. We've spoiled her. She's starting to act exactly like her mother—wild, selfish, and unstable."

Vicious. Just like her mother.

Even inside my blanket, my tiny heart flinched at his words.

I was glad Hannah had been taken away. I was glad she hadn't heard that.

I squirmed in my swaddle, making soft cooing sounds, trying to tell them that Hannah wasn't bad. She was just terrified of being erased. But I couldn't speak. I could only make meaningless baby noises.

My mother smiled, completely misinterpreting my efforts. "Look at Gracie, trying to make her mommy feel better."

Five days later, my mother was discharged, and we returned home.

The moment we walked through the door, Hannah was there waiting. My parents instantly stepped in front of me, shielding me from her view.

But Hannah only let out a hollow, dry laugh. She slowly rolled up her sleeves.

Her arms were covered in angry, overlapping welts—some red and fresh, others dark purple and scabbing over.

"Grandma 'educated' me," Hannah said, her eyes fixed on my parents. "I won't be jealous of the baby anymore. So... you'll still love me like you used to, right?"

She stared at them, begging for reassurance.

But my parents only looked at each other, letting out a collective sigh of relief. My father stepped forward and patted her head.

"Of course, Hannah. You'll always be our sweet girl."

They were so happy that she had finally "learned her lesson" that neither of them asked a single question about the horrific marks on her arms.

Hannah lowered her head, slowly pulling her sleeves back down.

I remembered how, just a few months ago, if Hannah so much as scraped her knee, my parents would hover over her, kissing the scratch and comforting her until she smiled. Now, she was covered in bruises, and they chose to look right past them.

Hannah seemed to have truly changed. She helped my father carry the heavy stroller, and she even washed my baby bottles without being asked.

Standing in the kitchen, my father whispered to my mother, "I guess letting your mother handle her was the right call. She's actually behaving now."

Hannah’s hands froze in the soapy water. Then, she slowly resumed scrubbing.

So, my parents had authorized the beating. That was why they didn't ask.

Hannah dried her hands, turned around, and looked at my father. "I'm finished," she said quietly. "I really won't hurt Gracie again. I understand now."

My father took the clean bottle. "I'm glad you understand. Your mother and I won't stop loving you just because of the baby. You're both our children."

My mother smiled warmly from the living room.

In my bassinet, I let out a soft gurgle. I thought that, despite everything, our family was finally going to be okay. I promised myself that when I grew up, I would explain everything to our parents so they would never misunderstand Hannah again.