The earthquake came, and my mother did not hesitate to save my brother

The earthquake hit, and Mom scooped up my little brother, Danny, and ran, leaving me behind.

Later, as I sobbed, she said, "It was just a small tremor, you're being dramatic."

"Besides, you were fine, weren't you?"

She knew damn well if it weren't for our two golden retrievers, Goldie and Sunny, shielding me, I wouldn't be alive.

I survived, but lost my dogs and the use of my legs.

A surviving puppy, Lucky, helped me through the darkest days. Then, Grandma, complaining that the dog was distracting Danny from his studies, secretly sold him.

I screamed, demanding to know why. Mom slapped me hard. "It's just a dog! Don't you yell at your grandma!"

They didn't know I was battling severe depression. Lucky was my only lifeline.

That night, I dragged myself to the balcony and jumped.

I woke up. It was the day of the earthquake. Again.

1

The aroma of dinner filled the air. Mom's gentle voice followed, "Honey, I made your favorite sweet and sour pork. Eat up!"

Danny's whiny voice responded, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

I looked towards the sounds – Mom, in her apron, busy in the kitchen; Danny, sprawled on the couch, watching TV. Mom's hair wasn't gray, Danny was still eight, and Goldie and Sunny snoozed at my feet. I could walk.

It was real. I was reborn. Reborn on the day of the earthquake.

I remembered the exact moment – Mom would carry the sweet and sour pork to the table, and then the ground would shake.

Without hesitation, I grabbed Goldie and Sunny by their collars and dragged them outside. I told Danny there was a bird's nest under the eaves on the second floor. He bolted upstairs, instantly distracted.

Just as I reached the yard and Danny reached the second floor, the earth began to tremble.

2

Like before, Mom dropped the pork and rushed towards the living room the instant the shaking started. Not seeing Danny, she frantically screamed his name, searching the house. Hearing him upstairs, she ran out, never once calling my name.

Almost as soon as she reached the yard, the house collapsed.

The ground still shuddered, but I was safe, my dogs huddled beside me. I hugged them tight. They were alive. My legs were intact.

Relief washed over me, until Mom rushed to the rubble, desperately digging for Danny. Her fingernails ripped and bled as she unearthed him, his legs mangled and bloody. She wailed.

Then, she turned on me, grabbing my hair, hitting and scratching. "You little brat! Why didn't you yell? You cared more about these mutts than your own brother! Why him and not you?!"

3

My face burned, my ears rang. It was happening all over again.

Last time, trapped under the debris, I watched Mom shield Danny. Goldie and Sunny protected me, dying in the process.

Rescued later, I cried, asking why she saved him and not me. She claimed it was instinct, that she just grabbed Danny and ran, forgetting me in the chaos. She even wrote a blog post: "How a small earthquake made my 11-year-old daughter hate me forever."

My legs were crushed, ...