Still, his mood was dark, and his anger and contempt were unmasked.
“Can you stop this nonsense? No matter how hard you try to act like her, you’re not her!”
“Eds was a musical genius. You’ve been practicing for so long, and you still can’t play even the simplest piece. Her smile came from the heart—genuine and beautiful. Yours is stiff and forced.”
“And you’re not allowed to eat spicy food, stay up late, or drink alcohol. It’s bad for your health.”
Then, in a softer voice, almost a whisper carried away by the wind, he added, “What will you do if Eds comes back and your health is ruined?”
But I heard him.
It felt like my tail had been stepped on. I grabbed the nearest cup and hurled it at him.
“She is me! She’s all of me! This is my body—I can do whatever I want with it!”
“She doesn’t exist! She’s not real!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face, repeating the words like a broken record.
It was the first time I had ever lashed out at Hector. Normally, I kept everything bottled up. I was naturally reserved, avoiding conflict whenever possible. Besides, Hector had always emphasized that he valued calm and sensible women, saying he despised those who made a scene.
But in that moment, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I didn’t know how else to release the frustration and helplessness boiling inside me.
The memories of those two years haunted me, constantly reminding me that being “sensible” wasn’t a prerequisite for being loved.
Hector’s blatant favoritism was like a slap to the face, forcing me to confront the truth: she wasn’t me.
Even though we shared the same face, Edna wasn’t the fake Edna.
No, I realized bitterly, to Hector, I was probably the fake one.
That day ended in yet another unhappy parting between us.
I didn’t have the courage to ask him to celebrate my birthday with me. Not that it mattered—he wouldn’t have agreed, even if I had.
A call from my childhood friend, Kim Kennedy, felt like a lifeline. She said she’d be back the next day and insisted we celebrate my birthday together.
“Don’t you dare ditch me for Hector!” she warned teasingly. “Don’t put love over friendship, okay?”
It's comforting. At least my childhood friend Kim doesn’t dislike me the way Hector does.
The year I woke up, Kim had left for the United States to pursue graduate school. We hadn’t seen each other since, and we only exchanged occasional messages on Instagram.
I missed her terribly.