Chapter 2

Looking back, I realized that the lavish dinner, the kind words, and the warmth of that evening had all been a lie.

It had been a celebration—just not for me. It was for Olivia.

I instinctively took a step closer, straining to hear them. Yet, my fingers suddenly loosened, and the glass slipped from my hand. It shattered on the floor, sending shards skittering in every direction.

All at once, the room fell silent.

Then, the door flew open, and Mom appeared in the doorway.

A flicker of panic crossed her features when she saw me, but she quickly masked it. She forced a smile, but there was a sharp edge to her voice as she asked, "Why are you still up? What are you doing out here?"

I stared at Mom, my mind going blank. My throat tightened, and for a long moment, I couldn't get a word out.

"I-I'm thirsty. I came out for some water."

Dad came out, too. He glanced at me before giving Mom a pat on the shoulder. "That's enough. She was just thirsty. You don't have to snap at her."

In an instant, Mom's expression softened. She then bent down to gather the broken glass.

"Look at you, breaking a glass just trying to get some water. Alright, go back to bed. I'll take care of this," she said.

I tried to force a smile, but I had no idea whether I'd actually managed one. With that, I turned and headed back to my room.

The door to my parents' room stood ajar as I passed. Olivia was propped against the headboard, her phone in hand.

When I walked past, she glanced up, and a bright, knowing smile spread across her face.

I knew that smile all too well. All my life, I'd stood on the sidelines.

Whenever my parents scolded me, whenever a perfect report card wasn't good enough, whenever I watched the three of them enjoying their perfect family life, that same smile was plastered across Olivia's face.

It was the smile of someone who knew she'd won. It was a gloating smile, the kind of pity a favorite offered to the one who was never loved.

I lowered my gaze and hurried back to my room.

The moment I closed the door, I couldn't hold it together anymore. I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my back pressed against the cold wood.

At last, the tears spilled over.

Olivia and I were twins. We looked exactly alike—same features, same height, even our voices sounded almost identical.

People often couldn't tell us apart. Sometimes, even our teachers mixed us up. Our parents, however, never did.

But it wasn't because they knew me better. It was because, in their eyes, I simply didn't exist.

As far back as I could remember, I had lived with Grandma in the country. My parents lived in the city with Olivia, and they only came to visit on holidays.

Even then, they'd rush through a meal before heading back.

Whenever they came to visit, Mom would hold Olivia close. Dad would buy her new clothes and toys, and the three of them would laugh and joke together, wrapped up in their own little world.

Meanwhile, I'd sit beside Grandma and watch it all unfold. It was as though I were watching a movie about someone else's life.

Grandma had told me that when Olivia and I were born, there had been complications during the delivery. The doctors said they could only save one of us.

Without hesitation, Dad had chosen Olivia.

In the end, Mom and both babies survived. But after that, Mom always seemed to believe that there was something about me that had nearly cost Olivia her life.

I didn't believe in fate, but I knew one thing. From the moment I was born, I had never been the child they chose.

Grandma had been the only light in my life. She hadn't had much formal education, yet she taught me how to read and do math. She also taught me to be honest and kind.

She used to tell me, "Victoria, work hard in school. Get into a good college, and then you'll never have to depend on anyone."

I started elementary school when I was six. Every day, I walked nearly two miles to the local school. Olivia, on the other hand, had Mom and Dad to drive her to school and pick her up.

When it rained, my parents would bring Olivia an umbrella. But I could only hold my backpack over my head and run home.

Yet, I never felt sorry for myself. After all, Grandma was always waiting for me at home.

She'd keep a bowl of warm pumpkin soup waiting by the stove, dry my soaked clothes by the fire, and sit beside me under the glow of a small lamp while I did my homework.

As the years passed, her back grew more stooped, and her eyesight weakened. But whenever I came in first at school, she couldn't stop smiling.

"Victoria, you're the smartest girl I know," Grandma would say, running a hand through my hair. "One day, you'll go to college and move to the city."