Margaret hated her daughter.

Margaret hated her daughter. Not in the way that one usually is annoyed with their child, no. It was pure hate. It boiled in her, ingrained in her pores, instilled in her brain. She knew this on the day she gave birth to her. On the day she held her in her hands staring down at her doughy face with two gorgeous blue eyes ones that matched her own.

Margaret named her daughter Dawn after her mother. She vowed to be better than her mother. Kinder, calmer, and more present. That is why Margaret sat on the off-white wooden porch her husband decided to make two summers ago on a whim. That is why Margaret let her back grow sore sitting in a light brown recliner that her mother-in-law gave her as a housewarming present. That is why Margaret sat in the blistering sun watching her daughter run around with her friends in the street. Most mothers wouldn't watch their child when they're outside so this made Margaret better than most mothers. At least in her eyes. Thoughts like these helped push down the growing cold feeling of shame that always threatened to boil over.

Dawn laughed loudly as her friend reached forward to tag her. That laugh. It was nauseating. Margaret used to laugh like that. She would laugh like that in between classes walking with her friends to the next period as they each exchanged gossip on their classmates. Life was simple then. It was filled with homework, parties where people care if you attend, and football games spent shivering in the stands cheering when your school makes the occasional point. But now Margaret's life was filled with daycare, playdates where parents care if you attended, and parent-teacher conferences where you have to explain that you are the parent and not the older sibling and then you feel a rush of shame and embarrassment like no other. 

Margaret watches as Dawn runs after her friends in hot pursuit as she was now 'it'. She remembered playing tag with friends she would know for life. She remembers keeping those friends till high school. She remembers telling those friends that she yes she Margaret Willis got a date with the quarterback. She remembers sitting on the bathroom floor of her parent's house with those friends and bawling her eyes out to them while holding a plastic test with her prom-ready nails. She remembers skipping prom cause she was sick and those friends partying without her. She remembers being unable to invite any of those friends to her wedding. And of course, she remembers those friends all skipping town the first chance they could. Margaret would skip town. God how she wished she could skip town. Take a train to the next state over and start over. Meet random people at bars and hook up with them. Make mistakes but the easy-to-fix kind, not the kind that leaves you taking care of a snotty child who you can't even force yourself to love.

Margaret thought she would love Dawn when she was born. She thought it would be the kind of love that just happens like a switch flipping in her brain that made her forget about her hopes and dreams and instead was replaced by unconditional love for a thing that took away those hopes and dreams. She thought then that the love would come gradually but it never did. Not even when she was buying a house using her parent's relator that would be fit for a family. Not even when she was painting her daughter's room a dusty pink. Not even when her daughter turned one. Or two. Or three. Or four. And of course not even when her daughter was five. Margaret would feel shame if her husband loved their daughter too but she knew he didn't.

Oh, poor Adam. Poor American sweetheart Adam. He was so full of promise and now his reputation and future were ruined all because he decided to hook up with that harlot Margaret. Now they have a kid. A poor kid who neither will love, I mean how could they, she ruined their lives. Adam was going to go off to college he was going to play football. But no now he works for his father-in-law's company and comes home to their family. Their fake family. The worst part Margaret thought was that Adam pretended it was all fine. He pretended that he liked their daughter he pretended that he liked Margaret. He did not join Margaret in the self wallowing instead he came home from work complimented Margaret's terrible cooking and asked their idiot of a daughter how her day was. How is a five-year-old supposed to tell you in any interesting way how her day was? It was either good or bad and no more details were needed. Margaret wanted to just perform a lobotomy with her fork whenever this conversation would start. One because it was annoying and two because it would remind Margaret how much she didn't know about her daughter.

Did Margaret know Dawn's favorite color was green? Of course, she didn't why would she? She may live in the same house as Dawn and spend the most time with Dawn but most of that time is spent brewing in self-hatred. Never spent asking Dawn asinine questions. The person who would remind her the most of how little she knew her daughter was her teacher. Ms. Taylor. Yes, a Ms., not a Miss or a Mrs. No Ms. Taylor was engaged she was in the same graduating class as Margaret. She didn't have to get married before she graduated. No, she got to take her time. She got to look around and not be tied to a football quarterback whose main source of income came through nepotism because he flunked every other job interview. No Ms. Taylor got herself a lawyer. 

Margaret would see Ms. Taylor every weekday. She would see Ms. Taylors beautiful brown hair that was always done in a new hairstyle because she had time for her hair and wasn't spending all morning wrangling a shrieking child. Ms. Taylor would wear clothes that she knew would get messy from children being able to spare other more beautiful parts of her wardrobe. Margaret didn't get that choice her clothes were free reign as far as Dawn was concerned I mean who cares if her wedding dress gets paint on it it's her fault for leaving it up in her closet. At least that's what Adam says and no it doesn't matter that their wedding was practically a year ago, so of course, not everything had been perfectly put away yet. Ms. Taylor was free from these issues. She got to stand in her classroom and say hi to Margaret in a far too cheerful voice and then when Margaret goes to pick up Dawn will tell her all about how Dawn was doing. Like Margaret needed to be told that Dawn drew a bird today or learned how to count to three. But Ms. Taylor seemed to think Margaret needed to know and god forbid Margaret attempt to leave such a conversation early, no then Ms. Taylor would cock her head to the side and frown slightly just enough for Margaret to feel like she had been seen as an unfit mother. Like Margaret had the choice that a child would begin to grow into her belly just because she wanted to be reckless one time.

"Mom look what I caught!" Dawn shrieks. She's running over her small hand into a fist. Her hair is the same dusty blonde as Margarets's, her face covered in freckles just like Adam's, and her eyes blue just like Margarets. Dawn uncurls her fist and reveals a dragonfly. Margaret used to try and catch dragonflies as a child. Her mother said it was stupid. Margaret looks at the dragonfly and ruffles her daughter's hair. It feels just like her own. 

"Good job honey." She says and leans down to kiss the top of her head. Margaret might hate her daughter but she hated her mom more and she would rather die than be a worse mother. Dawn giggles and lets the dragonfly escape. It hovers around for a second before darting away. Dawn has already ran back to her friends. Her friends who she will probably keep until high school. Her friends who she will laugh in the hallways with. Her friends who she will graduate with. Her friends who she will go to college with. Her friends who she will be able to leave with. Her friends who won't leave her behind. Her friends who she will have at her wedding. Her friends who will see her succeed. Who will watch her follow her dreams. Her friends who won't have to watch her stay in their hometown and raise a child they all know she hates. Margaret hated her daughter.