A Truth Too Bitter

Chapter Six 

Something felt off. Chiara couldn’t shake the question that kept circling in her head. Why would parents push their own child aside for someone else? At first, they told her to be kind, to pity Aleira because she had lost her parents. They said she should treat her gently, like a guest who needed love. Chiara tried. She really did.

But over time, Aleira wasn’t just a guest. She slipped into Chiara’s place. Piece by piece, she became the daughter her parents seemed to want more.

Lying awake that night, Chiara stared at the ceiling, her chest tight. If she stayed still, she would drown in her thoughts. So she slipped quietly out of bed and padded down the hall. The house was quiet, her parents were asleep and the only sound was the faint tick of the old clock downstairs.

She opened the door to her father’s study. The smell of paper and wood polish hung in the air. For a moment she hesitated, her hand still on the knob, then stepped inside.

She didn’t know what she expected to find. She only knew she needed to look. Maybe there would be something here that explained why everything felt so wrong.

She began opening drawers, shuffling through neat stacks of files and papers. Nothing. Just numbers, contracts, things that meant little to her. She moved faster, her pulse beating in her ears. Still nothing.

Then her eyes fell on a cabinet in the corner. Heavy. Locked.

She crouched in front of it, brushing her fingers over the brass lock. It wasn’t a keyhole. It was a dial. A password.

She tried what came to mind first. Her birthday. Aleira’s birthday. Her parents’ anniversary. The dial clicked, but the cabinet stayed shut.

Her stomach sank. She sat back on her heels, ready to give up, when a thought stirred. Slowly, she leaned forward again and tried one more code.

Click.

The lock gave way.

Chiara froze. Her breath caught in her throat as the cabinet door opened a little. She hadn’t even looked inside yet, but her skin prickled as if she had already uncovered a secret that wasn’t meant for her.

Chiara pulled the door open wider. Papers were stacked inside, rows of files waiting like secrets kept too long. She reached for the first one and unfolded it with shaking hands.

It was Aleira’s birth certificate.

Her first instinct was to drop it back. But her eyes caught on the date, and her stomach turned.

The year was the same as hers.

Her throat went dry. That couldn’t be right. Aleira was supposed to be older. Four years older. That was what everyone had always said. That was what her parents told her.

Her mind drifted back to the day it had first been made clear. She had been small then, still eager to play, when Aleira had joined her in the garden. Something silly had happened — a small quarrel over a toy, or maybe she had teased Aleira without meaning to.

Aleira’s voice had cut through the air. “Don’t speak to me like that. I’m older than you. Show some respect.”

Chiara had laughed at first, thinking it was a joke. “But we are the same age—”

Before she could finish, her parents had stepped in. “Chiara, enough. Aleira is older. Treat her as such.”

The sting of those words never left her. From that day, Aleira was no longer just a cousin. She became the older sister Chiara was forced to obey.

Now, staring at the certificate in her hands, Chiara’s heart pounded. The truth was here, written in plain ink. Aleira was not older. They were born the same year.

Her chest ached as she placed the document back. All those years of silence, all those moments she had bowed her head, were built on a lie.

The next morning, the family gathered at the long dining table. The clatter of cutlery and the soft hum of conversation filled the room, but Chiara could hardly taste the food on her plate. The file she had seen the night before burned fresh in her mind.

Her hands curled tight around her fork before she finally spoke. “Why does Aleira’s birth certificate have the same year as mine?”

The table went still. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then her father’s face darkened.

“What were you doing in my study?” His voice thundered, sharp enough to make her flinch.

Her throat burned, but she forced herself to look back at him. “You shouldn’t answer a question with a question. I just want to know the truth. What are you hiding from me?”

Her mother’s fork touched down gently on her plate. She lifted her head at last, her eyes cool, her face unreadable. Her voice carried no warmth. “Aside from that birth certificate, what else did you see?”

The coldness cut deeper than her father’s anger. Chiara’s heart thudded hard. Her palms were damp, her fingers curled tight around the edge of her chair. She swallowed, her lips trembling. “What else are you hiding that I’m not supposed to see?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

A sharp crack split the silence. Her mother’s palm landed across her face, the sting burning hot against her skin.

“How dare you talk back to us,” her mother hissed, her hand still raised. “You fool.”

Chiara’s skin burned. She tasted salt before she realized the tears had already fallen. The shock froze her in place. She had expected denial, maybe more anger. But not this. Not a slap from the woman she still wanted to call her mother.

Her mother looked at her, lips curling. “So what if Aleira has the same year as you? It doesn’t change a thing. She is still above you in everything and you will never stand at her level.”

She pushed her chair back. “Eat your food and keep quiet.”

Her father rose without a word and followed her mother out, leaving the room cold and still.

For a moment, Chiara sat frozen. Then Aleira’s laugh burst out, sharp and cruel. She clapped her hands slowly, mocking. “Oh, what a brave move. Should we give her a standing ovation?”

She kept laughing, talking to no one. “Chiara Vitale, the fearless girl.”

Chiara’s fists curled on her lap, her teeth pressing hard together.

Aleira walked closer, her perfume sharp in the air. She leaned down, lips near Chiara’s ear. “Know your place, darling. No one wants you here.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor.

Chiara stayed still, her eyes burning. The words dug deep, and the silence that followed felt heavier than the slap.