Unwanted Twin: I'll Vanish From Their World

A little while later, my younger sister, Claire Ashford, posted again. She wrote, "Mom and Dad bought me so many souvenirs! They were all so expensive.

"I kept telling them they didn't need to buy me so much, but they wouldn't listen. Oh, and they picked out a gift for Annie, too!"

One person in the comments noticed something was off and asked, "Why didn't your sister go with you?"

My heart lurched, and I found myself hoping Claire would reply. We were both their daughters, so why was I the one left behind?

If I hadn't happened to see Claire's post, I never would have known they'd already taken her on the trip before the day we'd planned to leave.

But less than a minute later, the post was deleted.

I stared at the blank page, and my fingertips rested on the screen, trembling slightly. Apparently, I wasn't even worth an explanation.

…

Two days later, Mom and Dad returned with Claire. The moment she walked through the door, she excitedly called out to me. She was carrying armfuls of souvenirs from their trip.

"Annie, look at this snow globe! Mom paid a fortune to have it custom-made. It's got a picture of the three of us watching the northern lights!"

As she spoke, she picked up another souvenir. "And look at this! Mom and Dad won this stuffed toy for me at the shooting gallery. We had to play several rounds before we finally won it."

I stood rooted to the spot. My expression gradually hardened, and bitterness welled up inside me.

Mom and Dad never played childish games like these. When I was a pup, they promised to take me to an amusement park if I came in first in my class. But later, they decided it was too childish and refused to take me.

Claire seemed to realize I wasn't saying anything. She hesitated before adding, "Annie, Mom brought you a gift, too."

The last flicker of hope suddenly flared back to life, and I instinctively turned to Mom.

She reached into her travel backpack and pulled out a little stuffed toy. She dusted it off, then handed it to me, saying, "It got stepped on. You can wash it."

I held the little toy in my hand. It was a fox, the animal I disliked the most. A fox had frightened me when I was a pup, and I'd been afraid of them ever since.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest. Yet, I couldn't hold the question in any longer.

"Why didn't you take me with you?"

Mom looked uncomfortable. "Northmere is too far away. Taking care of Claire is already more than we can handle. How was we supposed to look after both of you?

"Besides, you're the older sister. You should know how to let Claire have her way sometimes. Don't be so petty."

I'd been told to give in to Claire for as long as I could remember. We were twins, but she'd been frail ever since we were born.

Mom always told me, "You took more than your share before you were even born. You'll spend the rest of your life making it up to your sister."

She was convinced I'd somehow caused Claire's poor health, so she expected me to let Claire have her way in everything. And I'd always done exactly that.

Whenever we had cake as pups, the biggest, prettiest slice always went to Claire. Whenever she missed school with a fever and had assignments to catch up on, Mom forced me to stay up all night doing them for her.

For 18 years, I'd always given in to Claire, just as Mom expected me to.

My chest tightened painfully as I gripped the hem of my shirt. "Then why didn't you tell me sooner? I'd already packed my things.

"I'd been so excited about going with you. I even stayed up late for several nights putting together the itinerary."

Mom was at a loss for words, so Dad quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

"So that's what you're upset about? That itinerary must've taken a lot of effort. You've worked so hard, sweetheart. Let's try to keep things quiet for the next couple of days and let Annie get some rest."

He went on, "Since we celebrated Claire's birthday first this time, I'll make sure we have a birthday party just for you in a few days. Think of it as making it up to you."

But I felt no happiness, only a numbing emptiness.

When I didn't respond, they took it as a sign of agreement and simply went back to what they'd been doing. Not one of them bothered to ask how I felt.

…

When I returned to my room, I found a new email in my inbox.

It read, "Your design submission has been selected for the Royal Young Designers Program. The organizers will provide a full scholarship and a three-year grant to support your creative work.

"Participants are expected to report in two days. Please confirm your participation by midnight tonight."

The program only accepted 12 applicants a year, and its training site was far from our pack.

After submitting my application, I'd been unsure of whether to go. Now, I didn't hesitate and tapped "Confirm".

In two days, I'd be leaving.

I could hear Mom, Dad, and Claire laughing together in the living room. Yet, I no longer wanted to be part of a family where I'd never truly felt I belonged.