No More Living in Her Shadow

I was twelve when Henry Shaw took me home from the orphanage, gave me a new name, put me through school, and gave me a good life. Ten years later, his first love returned from abroad. Her name sounded like mine, and her face looked like a mirror image. I quickly realized I had been a stand-in all along. Crushing the diagnosis in my pocket, I decided that I was going to live the rest of my life for myself, even if I did not have much time left.

The smoke from the burning candles in front of my grandmother’s grave stung my eyes, turning them red.

A bunch of bright flowers lay on the ground. I stared at them mindlessly, my body like an unthinking machine.

The doctor’s words echoed in my head, carrying a hint of regret, “You should get hospitalized soon.”

I was twenty-two years old, and I had just been diagnosed with stage three lung cancer.

My life was supposed to just be starting, but it was already hurtling toward a desperate end.

I gripped the diagnosis. There it was—my name, Lynn May, clearly written on it.

Henry Shaw gave me that name when I was twelve, after I came to live with him.

The other children at the orphanage called me ‘Little Mute’ because I hardly ever said anything.

I still remember that boy, who was a head taller than me, leaning down with warmth and kindness in his eyes.

“You’re so small. Let’s call you Lynn from now on.”

I cherished that name. After all, one only named something if one cared about it.

However, three months ago, Henry introduced me to a woman.

She studied my face, noticed how similar we looked, and asked Henry with a playful smile on her face, “Her name’s Lynn?”

Henry introduced her. “This is Lynette, my childhood friend.”

The girl extended her hand with a face full of arrogance.

“I’m Lynette Monroe.”

I was the tiny, insignificant Lynn, and she was the one and only Lynette.

When my grandmother died when I was six, I wandered the streets covered in filth, scavenging for food until the police officers sent me to the orphanage.

At twelve, Henry picked me out from the crowd of children and brought me home.

No one had ever chosen me so decisively before.

My grandmother used to tell me that as long as someone remembered your name, your soul stayed whole even after death.

Her tombstone read Wanda Carson. However, I could not remember what I was called before I became Lynn May.

“Grandma, I’ll come for you soon. Hold on a little longer…”

I would be joining her soon. After I left, no one would visit us.

I had already reserved a plot next to hers.

Suddenly, the cemetery manager came rushing over, looking troubled.

“Miss May, Mr. Shaw says he’s taking the plot you reserved.”

Wiping away the tears the smoke had pulled from my eyes, I called Henry.

His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

“Lynn, you finally decide to beg now that your burial plot’s gone?

“I told you to come. Why haven’t you shown up?

“Do you always need to make others wait for you just to feel important?”

I could hear Lynette sobbing softly in the background.

Henry lowered his voice and pressed on, “Lynn, if you don’t come today, don’t bother showing your face to me again.

“You caused this mess. Now, you’ve got to clean it up!”

Three days ago, Lynette’s cat fell from the balcony and died. She had been heartbroken ever since.

Her tear-filled eyes bore into me.

“If he scratched you, I would’ve apologized for him. I’d even kneel if you wanted me to!

“Why did you have to kill him?”

Those tears were enough to make Henry decide I was beyond forgiveness.

He looked at me with his jaw clenched in anger.

“You threw him to his death just because he scratched you?!

“Lynn, how did I never realize how cruel you are to animals?

“Or did you just want to kill him because Lynette loved him?!”

The truth was that the cat had been spooked by the loud party they were throwing downstairs and ran up to the second-floor balcony.

I had been out there smoking and managed to grab him just before he could jump.

However, in his panic, it scratched me badly.

As Henry raged, I stood there with flesh torn and bleeding from the scratches, feeling utterly defeated.

What was the point of explaining to someone who would never believe you?

Since Lynette returned, this had been my life.

After Henry’s comforting words, she eventually ‘graciously’ forgave me.

She planned a funeral for the cat, and Henry demanded that I attend, bow, and apologize in front of everyone.

I refused, and in retaliation, Henry threatened to give my burial plot to the cat.

My grip tightened on the phone, and my knuckles went white.

“Henry, I went to the hospital today...”

He cut me off, feeling irritated.

“It’s just a scratch. How many times do you need to go to the hospital for that?

“When did you become so delicate?

“That cat spent years with Lynette abroad. Do you have any idea how much he meant to her?

“You’re trying to play the victim with your little injuries?

“What’s next? Are you going to threaten to kill yourself?

“Lynn, are you really competing for attention? Can’t you have a little self-respect?”

Competing for attention? What right did I have to compete?

I was a stand-in, a substitute.

No matter how many words were stuck in my throat, they were powerless against his favoritism.

At that moment, as the smoke swirled around me, I was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and doubt.

If I was not Lynn, who had lived her whole life putting Henry first, who was I?

I did not go to the cat’s funeral. I was dragged to the company instead.

The assistant informed me that Elan Corporation wanted to discuss a partnership.