Chapter 2

Her door wasn't fully closed. Laughter echoed from inside—Lily and her best friend, Sarah. The phone speaker was turned up high, making every word crystal clear.

"Lily, are you seriously letting your stepmom tag along tonight?" Sarah asked on the other end of the line.

"Of course she has to come," Lily's voice bounced with lightness, lacking a shred of hesitation.

"Without her, who's gonna pay for the venue and the ridiculously overpriced catering? Who's gonna play hostess and manage all those annoying VIP guests?"

My feet froze. Holding the freshly steamed shawl in my hands, my entire body turned cold as ice.

"But didn't you say your real mom was coming back tonight, too?"

"Oh, my mom got tied up with something tonight, so she can't make the pre-party. But she's definitely coming to my actual coming-of-age ceremony."

Lily's tone held a vibrant thrill and pride I had never heard before.

"I've got it all mapped out. Eleanor is just a free maid and an ATM for our family. Does she honestly think buying me a few designer bags and dropping fortune on private tutors for my college application letters makes her my real mother? What a joke."

"Haha, so what does your dad say about this?"

"My dad is totally on team Mom." Lily boasted smugly.

"My dad has only ever loved my mom. I've secretly arranged a bunch of secret hookups for them already. Once tonight's fundraiser wraps up and I secure the $300k college trust fund she set up for me, I'll find a way to get my dad to divorce this old hag so the three of us can finally be a real family."

In that instant, a sharp, deafening ring pierced my ears, and my mind went completely blank.

It hit me like a lightning bolt—those crazy charges on my secondary credit card for tens of thousands of dollars, which I thought were for Lily's academic expenses? She had cashed them out to fawn over her biological mother.

I bit down on my lower lip so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.

I didn't want to believe it. I refused to believe it!

This was the child I raised with my own two hands—the little girl I held through tears, staying awake for days on end to nurse her back to health whenever she fell ill.

Had I misheard? Was it just some mindless, cruel joke between teen girls?

My body trembled violently, tears spilling uncontrollably down my cheeks and soaking a dark patch into the expensive shawl I had spent three full nights hand-stitching for her.

A dull, agonizing pain tore through my chest, making me physically weak. I had to lean against the wall just to drag air into my lungs.

Through the crack in the door, I watched the girl laughing hysterically, her outline blurring behind my tear-filled eyes.

I wanted to storm in and confront her—to scream in her face, asking what my twelve years meant to her, and how cheap my sacrifices were in her eyes. But my throat felt sealed shut with concrete; I couldn't squeeze out a single sound.

I didn't storm inside.

Like a pathetic loser running away from a battlefield, I backed away silently into the master bedroom and locked the door behind me.

Leaning my back against the doorboard, my knees finally gave out. I slid down onto the icy floor, weeping in absolute silence.

The woman in the mirror had smudged eye makeup and a look of completely shattered, hollow despair.

All the art exhibitions I turned down over the past twelve years, all the bright opportunities I discarded, and all the bitter indignities I swallowed replayed in my mind like a cruel, absurd farce.

I thought I was building a warm sanctuary for my family. As it turned out, I was just playing the clownish, convenient role of a "free maid" in someone else's script.

I didn't even hate her—at least not right now. The overwhelming tide of grief and void completely drowned out any anger.

I just felt a profound, bone-chilling hopelessness.

It turns out that bloodline bias is something twelve years of selfless devotion could never erase.

A sudden knock on the door snapped me out of my trance. Mark's impatient voice carried through: "Eleanor, are you ready? The limo driver is waiting downstairs. Tonight is Lily's big night—we can't be late."

"Coming," I replied, my voice carrying a barely perceptible raspy edge, though I tried my best to sound composed. "Right there."

I lowered my head and stared down at the wedding band on my finger. For the very first time, it felt suffocatingly heavy.

If the warm affection of the last twelve years was nothing more than a fever dream, then tonight, it was time to wake up.