Chapter 2

Back then, I always believed my mom didn't like me because I wasn't good enough.

I threw myself into housework, collected recyclables after school in middle school for some spare change, and hustled in college, working every part-time gig I could. I handed every cent I earned over to my mom, just wanting her to smile at me for once.

Now, I finally understand that it wasn't because I was bad. She never truly saw me as her own kid.

As I stood at the entrance of our apartment building, I thought back to my 18th birthday.

To convince my mom to let me celebrate on my own, I scrubbed tables and mopped floors every day after school. On weekends, I worked at the supermarket restocking shelves. I saved up over 100 bucks and handed every last cent to her.

When my mom took the money, she smiled and said, "Alright, I'll make you a feast."

I looked forward to it with all my heart.

On my birthday, I went out of my way and took a half-day off from my shift, bought a cake, stashed it in the fridge, and just sat there waiting, hoping my mom and Lucy would come home soon.

But by eight o'clock that night, neither of them had shown up.

When I called my mom, she simply said, "Lucy and I are out at a restaurant. She aced her exam today, so I'm treating her."

I couldn't help myself and asked her, "Did you forget today's my birthday?"

She hesitated, then said, "Oh, I was too busy. It's nothing, right? We'll make it up next year."

Then she hung up.

That night, I sat on the couch, watching the cake I'd gotten slowly melt away on the table. Tears dripped onto the cake box, smudging it with watery rings.

When Lucy finally got home, she was clutching a brand new stuffed animal, her face lit up with excitement. She never even cared how I was feeling.

It was from that moment on that Lucy realized my mom was always going to play favorites.

I always thought Lucy was my sister, that she and my mom were the ones closest to me. But now I finally see the truth—they're in it together, and I'm just the outsider, the one who exists to make Lucy look even better and serve her every need.

I took a deep breath and stepped into my apartment building, feeling that familiar heaviness in my chest.

As I rode the elevator, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—my eyes were red and swollen. I rubbed them hard, telling myself, 'Get it together. You can't let Lucy or my mom see you like this.'

As I reached my front door, I could hear my mom and Lucy laughing inside.

"Honey, don't worry about a thing. Even if Emily tries to go up against you, you know I'm on your side. Someone who looks like her? Like she'd ever been chosen for the honor guard," said my mom.

"Mom, I knew you cared about me most! But honestly, she wouldn't dare go toe-to-toe with me. She knows she's not pretty enough, anyway," Lucy replied, her voice brimming with pride.

I took out my keys, slid one into the lock, and the sound of the key turning made the laughter inside come to an abrupt stop.

Pushing open the door, I found my mom and Lucy on the couch—their smiles hadn't even faded when they spotted me.

"Oh, you're finally home? Where have you been running off to this time?" my mom said, her tone thick with annoyance.

She acted like coming home late was some kind of big offense.

Lucy lounged back on the sofa, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, look who it is—my rejected sister. What's wrong? Didn't get picked, so you went off to pout somewhere?"

I didn't even bother responding. I just walked right past them into the kitchen.

But the snide comments from behind never stopped.

"What, you got guts now? Think you can just pretend I'm not talking?" my mom shot.

"Listen up, Emily, I won't tolerate your crap any longer. Keep this up, and you can pack your bags and get out."

She wanted me to get out?

So all my pain meant nothing to her.

But right now, hunger was all I could feel. I didn't have the strength to think about all that crap anymore. All I wanted was to fill my belly.

I figured no matter how heartless my mom and Lucy could be, they'd at least leave me a little something to eat—even if it was just their scraps.

But the kitchen was cold and silent, the fridge completely bare, without even a spoonful of leftover porridge from this morning.