Mommy I'm Not The Spare Novel by Mafuyu _ Novel



Mommy I'm Not The Spare Novel by Mafuyu _ Novel

Mommy I'm Not The Spare Chapter 01

Five years after severing all connections with my family, I found myself serving a table of recognizable guests at the restaurant.
As I brought their pre-ordered cake into the private dining room, the trio of family members went rigid.
I sang the birthday song without faltering, then courteously shut the door and stepped out.
But the daughter hurried after me, extending a slice of cake:
"Mom asked me to bring this over for you. Today is your birthday as well."
"Mom and Dad have mentioned you every single day since you walked away. They're aging. Please, just come home, alright?"
As the young woman spoke, her eyes grew red and glassy with tears.
But I stayed courteous and detached, merely shaking my head.
The very next moment, the cake slammed against my chest. An older woman stormed out, shouting furiously:
"What exactly did we do to you to earn this much hatred?!"
I gazed quietly at my twin sister, whose face was identical to mine, and pondered for a moment.
Probably because her name was Vivienne Whitfield.
And mine was Putricia Whitfield.
The disturbance in the corridor was deafening.
When the other two rushed out of the private room, their eyes fell on Vivienne first.
"Vivienne, are you okay? Don't get upset, sweetheart."
Ms. Thornton, emotional as ever, wrapped the trembling Vivienne in an embrace, her own eyes rimmed with red.
I quietly retrieved a tissue to wipe the mess from my clothes.
As always, I held my tongue.
The man, who had initially restrained his scolding, suddenly erupted when The caught my expression.
"Putricia, that's your mother and your sister! What kind of look is that? You vanish for years without a single word, and this is how you behave the instant we meet again? Trying to prove who's in charge?"
Hearing that detestable name once more after five years, I still could not suppress the surge of revulsion.
My breathing caught for an instant. When I lifted my gaze, I wore my professional smile once more.
"I apologize, sir. My name is Nora Whitfield."
"If there's nothing further you require, I'll go get cleaned up so I don't spoil your meal."
After five years of hardship in the real world, I had long since learned not to act on impulse.
I delivered the lines effortlessly, then turned on my heel and walked away.
The people behind me seemed dumbstruck, rooted in place.
They probably never imagined that the daughter who once screamed hysterically and torched every bridge would become so polished and composed.
By the time I finished cleaning up and clocked out, it was deep into the night.
As I made my way to the bus stop, a car eased to a halt in front of me.
The window descended to reveal Ms. Thornton's tentative face.
"It's late. Let me drive you home."
As though terrified I would decline, she hastily added, "It's just Mom here. Let Mom take you, alright?"
The wavering streetlights glimmered in her eyes. Her desperate expression nearly made me laugh.
Ms. Thornton, the child psychology specialist, was as self-assured as ever.
She believed that if she came alone, she could convince me to return.
I had recognized these maneuvers since I was small.
But I was no longer a child.
"No need. My friend will be here shortly."
She appeared taken aback by the refusal, momentarily stunned, yet stubbornly refused to drive off.
I knew she likely assumed I was fabricating an excuse.
But I had no desire to justify anything.
There was no purpose in it. 

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