My Mothre’s Guilt journal Became My Cancellation Notice Chapter 01

My mother kept an accountability journal.

Whenever my sister felt wronged because of me, my mother would fill a page in it.

[Today, my older daughter, Ivy Sullivan, failed to show enough grace and frightened my younger daughter, Celeste Sullivan, into tears. That is my failure as a mother.]

After she finished writing, she would sign her name at the bottom of the page, then lock the black-bound journal in the lowest drawer of her study.

Everyone in the house said my mother was willing to humiliate herself just to teach me better.

After that, I never dared to fight for anything again.

When my sister wanted my room, I moved to another one.

When my sister wanted my necklace, I gave it to her.

It was not until the day the Graham family broke off the engagement that I learned someone had photographed that accountability journal and sent every page to Garrett Graham’s mother.

My engagement party was canceled.

Then Celeste stood at my door with a new sample invitation in her hand, her eyes red.

“Ivy, Mrs. Graham said I might be a better fit for the Graham family than you.”

The day the Graham family sent over the engagement invitations, the gown designer from the boutique was at the house adjusting the waist of my dress.

The ivory gown covered half the sofa. A subtle pattern ran along the hem, and when the light fell across it, the ivy-vine design shimmered softly.

The fabric had been left to me by my grandmother before she passed away.

She once told me, “Ivy is right there in your name. An ivy-vine pattern is quiet and understated, but it still holds its own.”

I was standing in front of the full-length mirror and had just raised one arm when the bedroom door was pushed open.

Celeste came in leaning on the housekeeper’s arm. She had a pale gray cardigan draped over her shoulders, and her face was frighteningly white.

Her gaze settled on the gown I was wearing and stayed there for a long time.

“Ivy looks beautiful in that.”

The designer spoke before she could think, smiling as she added, “When Miss Celeste gets engaged someday, she can have an even prettier one made.”

The faint smile on Celeste’s lips faded at once.

She lowered her head and coughed twice, her fingers clutching her sleeve. Her voice came out thin and weak.

“With my health, how could I ever be as lucky as Ivy?”

No one in the room said another word.

In the mirror, I watched her eyes slowly turn red, and my chest tightened before anything else.

I knew this scene too well.

The moment her eyes reddened, everyone’s gaze would fall on me.

It was as if standing there in my own engagement gown and letting her see it was already something cruel.

My mother, Evelyn Sullivan, came in from outside just in time to hear the last sentence.

She did not scold me. She only steadied Celeste and swept her eyes over the gown I was wearing.

“Take it off for now.”

The designer froze. “Mrs. Sullivan, the waist still hasn’t been finished.”

My mother said evenly, “Celeste hasn’t been sleeping well. She can’t handle too much excitement right now. The engagement party is still two weeks away. There’s no rush.”

I said nothing.

Tessa stood beside me, so anxious that she kept looking up at me.

The gown was gradually eased off my body.

Celeste spoke in a small voice. “Mom, don’t let me hold Ivy up. I can just go back to my room.”

My mother patted her hand.

“You’re her sister. Of course she’ll understand.”

That was not said for Celeste to hear.

I lowered my eyes and pulled my slip tighter around myself.

After Celeste was helped away, my mother still did not look at me. She only told the housekeeper to send the gown to Celeste’s room first.

“Let some of the good-luck glow from the engagement rub off on her and chase away the nightmares she’s been having.”

Tessa could not help taking a step forward. “Mrs. Sullivan, that’s what Ivy is supposed to wear to her engagement party.”

The housekeeper immediately frowned. “When the family is talking, staff do not interrupt.”

I reached out and pressed my hand over Tessa’s sleeve.

Her eyes reddened, and she pressed her lips together so tightly they nearly turned white.

I knew she felt hurt on my behalf.

But I knew even better that if I spoke up now, my mother would go to the study again tonight.

Sure enough, less than half an hour after the gown was sent away, the housekeeper came knocking on my door.

“Miss Ivy, Mrs. Sullivan is in the study.”

I stood outside the study without going in.

The door was left ajar.

My mother sat at the desk with the black-bound accountability journal open in front of her.

She wrote with her head lowered, her voice quiet.

“The Graham family’s engagement party is coming up, and you should have been more composed. Celeste has been frail since she was little. As Ivy, why would you rub your good fortune in her face?”

I wanted to say that I had not shown off.

But the words reached my mouth and would not come out.

The study carried the faint scent of a sandalwood candle.

When I was six, this same study was where it all began.

My grandmother had brought over a necklace and a box of lemon custard tarts.

Celeste cried because she wanted the necklace, and I refused to give it to her.

That night, she developed a high fever.

My mother sat in the study all night and wrote the first entry in the accountability journal.

[My older daughter, Ivy Sullivan, was not properly taught as a child. She wounded her sister’s heart over a mere object. That is my failure as a mother.]

From then on, whenever I was deemed to have done something wrong, my mother wrote it down.

If she wrote once, she would barely eat for three days.

If she wrote twice, my father would tell me in a cold voice to apologize.

The household staff and relatives would also speak carefully around me, as if I were something dangerous that could hurt someone at any moment.

After my mother finished writing, she capped her pen and signed her name at the bottom of the page.

Evelyn Sullivan.

She tucked the page into the journal, then turned to look at me.

“Ivy, I’m not blaming you. I’m only afraid that once you marry into the Graham family, you’ll still be this inconsiderate.”

I lowered my head and answered softly.

“I’ll remember, Mom.”