Sold-Out Sister: My Brother Died for Me

When my parents, Isaac Sullivan and Diana Wells, returned, I, Phoebe Sullivan, was crouching next to the trash, digging for something to eat. I was incredibly weak and skinny from years of constant starvation. I reached up and brushed away the hair that was blocking my view, revealing the face I had kept hidden beneath my unkempt bangs.

The moment they laid eyes on me, Mom and Dad froze. I knew that I had reminded them of my older brother, Asher Sullivan. After all, my features bore a striking resemblance to his.

When I was eight, I bugged Asher until he agreed to take me out for bubble tea. He had always spoiled me rotten. Hence, we left home in high spirits, discussing what flavors we wanted to drink in a moment.

As we reached an intersection, a van suddenly sped toward us. The very next second, two men jumped out, grabbed me, and tried to stuff me into the vehicle.

Asher refused to let go of me, and he fought back with everything he had. To save me, 13-year-old Asher took on the two grown men by himself.

Amidst the chaos, he shoved me away, giving me a chance to flee. Even after I ran all the way home screaming for Mom and Dad, the last thing Asher ever said to me kept echoing in my head. "Pheebs, run! Don't worry about me and just run! Don't look back..."

…

With a loud crash, the trash can in front of me was kicked over. I lost my balance, fell to the ground, and accidentally brushed against someone's shoe.

I looked up and realized that the person who had kicked the trash can was the young man Mom and Dad had adopted four years ago. His name was Archer Sullivan, and his features bore an even stronger resemblance to Asher's than mine did. In fact, Mom and Dad had adopted him for that very reason.

Archer barked, "Are you blind? You dirtied my limited-edition sneakers!" When he glared down at me, it felt as though Asher had come back to life, and he was angry because I was being a picky eater again.

I instinctively murmured, "I'm sorry, Asher. It's all my fault. I won't be a glutton anymore, and I'll never drink bubble tea again!"

Seemingly realizing that I was treating him as Asher's substitute, a flash of resentment shot through Archer's eyes. He was acutely aware that in this household, he was merely Asher's replacement.

He loathed that identity more than anything. Yet, to stay under this roof—and more importantly, to earn Mom and Dad's affection—he had no choice but to imitate Asher in every way he could.

"Phoebe, what did I ever do to you? Why did you have to ruin the birthday present Mom and Dad bought me? This is my favorite gift!" He barked so loudly that he immediately drew Mom and Dad downstairs.

Instinctively, I recoiled into the corner and wrapped my arms around myself as tightly as I could. I knew what was coming. Within 60 seconds, I would receive my daily thrashing.

"I know you don't like me and think I took Asher's place, but you shouldn't ruin the gift Mom and Dad gave me!"