After 32 Years, My Mother Chose My Sister Over Me, Telling Me, ‘It’s Her Day.’…

The Uninvited Birthday

My sister told my mom she was dying, but her lies were unraveled when I exposed her fake illness to secure all the inheritance for herself. She said it like she wanted me to buy milk while holding the gift I spent three months making for her.

I made a photo album with photos from her entire life from relatives across the country. Perhaps missing, I asked,

“What do you mean don’t come? It’s your 58th birthday. I’ve been planning my speech for weeks.”

My mother sighed in frustration,

“Samantha feels uneasy around you. Her day to bond with me without competition is needed.”

Samantha, 30, had been my stepsister for 10 months since my mother married her father. Competition? Mom, daughter of yours? Your daughter attending every birthday for 32 years?

The other end was silent. She said something to make me queasy.

The issue is that have 32 years, Samantha needs time to catch up. I drove to her house immediately.

It was 9:00 p.m., but the lights were on and people were decorating. The driveway held my aunt Lisa’s car; my cousin Chris’s truck was too there. They prepared for tomorrow.

My stepfather, David, answered, embarrassed, when I knocked. He tried to close the door, but I saw my mom hanging streamers with Samantha in the living room.

Maybe you should return,

he said.

I shouted,

“Mom,”

and she froze. My mother nodded when Samantha whispered.

She went to the door but didn’t invite me. This was discussed.

“Tomorrow is Samantha’s big day,”

she said.

I ignored her to look at the “Happy 65th Birthday Mom” banner with my mother and Samantha just two. The photo displays around the room made me wonder, where are the pictures of me?

Everyone showed my mom with Samantha or David. I lost 32 years.

“Samantha made them; they’re kind,”

my mom smiled like nothing was wrong.

“She labored over them.”

Aunt Lisa arrived at the door.

“What’s happening? Why is Rachel outside?”

She appeared confused. My mother straightened.

“Rachel won’t arrive tomorrow. She agreed it’s best after discussing it.”

“I agreed to nothing,”

I said. Lisa looked between us.

“Are you crazy? Yes?”

Your daughter Samantha appeared with a cake decorator.

“She triggers me,”

Samantha said.

“Her presence brings back childhood trauma.”

Everyone stopped. Trauma? What?

“I requested we only met last year,”

I said. Samantha cried on command.

“You resemble my childhood bully. Not your fault, but you prevent me from healing.”

It was my first time hearing about this. Samantha was held by my mother.

“She requires assistance, genuine family support,”

my mother said. Lisa laughed but wasn’t amused.

“Emma, you’ve gone insane. Your real family is Rachel.”

Mom’s face changed.

“Now David and Samantha are my family. I chose family; some ties are stronger than blood.”

Chris emerged from the kitchen.

“Dear Aunt Emma, the restaurant needs a final count tomorrow. Number of people?”

My mother stared at me.

“40. Everyone but Rachel.”

Chris was dumbfounded.

“You’re excluding your daughter?”

David then advanced.

“It benefits everyone,”

he said. I didn’t understand, but Rachel did.

“Mom, what’s happening? Did Samantha talk to you? Was she threatening?”

Samantha cried harder.

“See? Again she attacks me. This is my point.”

My mother ran inside after her. David was at the door.

“You should. You upset them.”

The Terminal Diagnosis

Lisa grabbed my arm.

“Come to my car now.”

Sitting in her driveway, she pulled out her phone.

“Last week, your mother changed her will. Samantha gets everything: the house, savings, and grandmother’s jewelry.”

When my grandmother died, she left me certain pieces. My mother kept them until my wedding.

“You know this how?”

I asked.

“I requested just because she asked me to watch. I told her she was wrong and refused.”

She then announced Samantha’s terminal diagnosis. Blood chilled.

“Terminal? She has what?”

Lisa shrugged. She wouldn’t say, but Samantha needed motherly love before dying.

You had decades, but Samantha had months or weeks. I felt sick.

As she dies, she wants my mom to herself. Shaking her head, Lisa said,

“I doubt she’s dying. Your mother believes her even though I think she’s lying.”

To my cousin Lisa’s house we drove. Samantha supposedly received treatment from her.

“Get her medical records,”

I said. Laptops were brought closer.

Lisa tapped the keyboard as we watched the screen load in her kitchen. The hospital database took forever to find Samantha’s file.

Lisa’s expression changed when it appeared. She scrolled through empty pages.

No chemotherapy records, oncology appointments, or treatments were found. Only two visits were listed: two years ago for a sprained wrist and last March for the flu.

Lisa gave me a stack of Samantha’s hospital medical history and printed everything she could without breaking privacy laws. Every page showed she was alive.

We drove back to Lisa’s house after midnight with the evidence on my lap like it weighed 100 lb. While waiting for us, Chris became angry and punched the wall when we showed him the printouts.