CHAPTER 69 BE ARIEL.

The Toy

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"Ariel," my mother called out, her voice fragile.

"No, it's me, Aria. Mummy, it's me.” I rushed to her side, taking hold of her hand. Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt her weak grip. My chest fluttered, but it felt mocking.

Deep down, I knew she wasn’t looking for me. "See, Ariel has long hair; mine is short, Mummy," I said, my voice trembling with desperation and sadness.

I gently stroked her hand, trying to anchor her to the present, hoping for a flicker of recognition. "It’s me, Aria," I repeated softly, searching her face.

She frowned. "Why did you cut your hair? You looked prettier with it longer." Her hand rubbed my face with a tenderness that momentarily bridged the gap between her confusion and my reality.

Her voice was soothing and calm, nothing like what I had imagined while reading her diary. She wiped my tears with her hand, wearing a warm smile that made me yearn for her acceptance even more.

“It’s me, not Ariel,” I whispered, my voice trembling with pain.