The Daughter They Called Unlucky

I sat on the bed, my hands trembling.

Three days earlier, I'd turned eighteen.

Nobody remembered. No one even called.

I made myself a bowl of instant noodles and drifted through the day in a daze.

The next morning, Mom called me long-distance.

"Sweetheart, Sophie's eighteenth birthday party is coming up.

"That girl insists you come home for it, so pack your things.

"Oh, and she wants one of those iPhones. Buy her one."

I opened my mouth, then pressed my lips shut again.

I wanted to ask them for money, but then I remembered that helpless prophecy from all those years ago.

For as long as I could remember, whenever I spent even one extra cent of the family's money, disaster followed.

Bumps and bruises were a regular part of my life. I'd even spent three days and nights in the ICU.

So, to stay alive, I ate leftovers and wore Sophie's hand-me-downs.

When I was fourteen, I dropped out of school and left home to work so I could eat. I supported myself with the money I earned.

I'd been gone four years.

Whenever I came home for Christmas, my parents only let me stay one day.

"Sweetheart, it's for your own good."

They said I was too unlucky to share in Sophie's good fortune.

But I'd just heard my parents admit it was all a lie.

They only wanted to keep sensitive little Sophie from going down the wrong path.

The noise downstairs pulled me out of my thoughts. I glanced down and saw that Sophie was home.

She carried three designer shopping bags and was polished from head to toe.

Even her nails were inlaid with gold leaf. Real gold, supposedly.

"Mom, I'm home!

"Here are the clothes I don't want anymore. Give them to Lena later!"

She threw herself into Mom's arms, happy as a little bird returning to the nest.

I was the only one staring blankly at the bags by her feet.

After I turned three, I never wore new clothes again.

Once, I scraped together enough to buy myself a fifty-dollar puffer jacket. My parents acted like they'd lost their minds when they saw it.

They tore it off me and said it over and over.

"You were born unlucky. You can't wear new clothes!

"Do you want to die? If you die, how are we supposed to go on?"

Watching them go hysterical, I gave in, year after year.

But none of it was real. It had all been a carefully crafted lie.

My heart felt like it was caught in a giant fist. I couldn't breathe.

It was fake. All of it was fake!