Zach or Chloe. Zach, spoiled as always,
wanted to play with it. When I refused, he cut
it to pieces with scissors. Not long after, my
aunt came back for a scarf she’d left behind
<
and saw the shredded dolphin. To protect her
precious son, my mom told her, “Ashley didn’t
like the toy. She cut it up herself, said she
didn’t want to see it.”
My aunt’s face changed. After that, she
always skipped me when handing out gifts.
Mom probably felt a little guilty after that and
was nicer to me for a while. But it didn’t last. In our family, my parents‘ favoritism had a
clear division of labor. Chloe was born the
year Dad’s business took off. He believed she brought good luck, so she was his favorite.
Mom favored Zach because he was the son
she’d longed for after two daughters.
く
As for me… I was born healthy and chubby,
but my twin brother didn’t even survive 24
hours. They thought I was bad luck.
As a child, I couldn’t understand. Why did
Zach and Chloe always get what they wanted
to eat? I was allergic to seafood, but on my
birthday, just because Chloe said she wanted
crab, Dad booked a table at a seafood
restaurant.
When I was twelve, there was an earthquake.
We were all taking afternoon naps. Without a
second thought, Mom grabbed Zach, and Dad
grabbed Chloe. I stumbled downstairs, crying
hysterically as the ceiling shook. But no one
came to save me.
<
It was the same when I was twelve, and it was
the same when that driver choked me and
dragged me into the woods at the bottom of
a deserted hill.
LO
The wedding ended in the afternoon. After
the guests left, Dad immediately told Mom to
call me again. Chloe’s eyes were red–rimmed,
the tiny rhinestones at the corners reflecting
the tears. She held Dad’s hand and said
understandingly, “Forget it, Dad. Ashley’s still
young, probably just throwing a tantrum. I’m
her older sister, I shouldn’t hold it against
her.”
く
Dad looked at her with sympathy. Zach
scoffed, “Chloe, you always think the best of
her. You treat her like a sister, but does she
ever treat you like one?”
Chloe bit her lip, looking like she was about
to cry. I stood there, watching her, feeling
nothing but irony.
Chloe was always like this. Even though my
parents‘ favoritism towards her was blatant,
she still wanted more. I knew she hated me.
In the beginning, Mom didn’t like me, but she
wasn’t this bad. On my birthdays, she would
bring home a cake. But as I was about to
make a wish with the candles lit, Chloe would
く
start crying. Wiping away her tears, she’d
force a brave smile. “It’s nothing. I just
suddenly remembered that there should have
been two of us celebrating today.”
That one sentence would change Mom’s
mood instantly. My hands clasped together,
ready to make a wish, she’d abruptly blow out
the candles. “All you care about is eating!
Ashley, do you even know your brother died
because of you? Do you have a heart?”
I’d be too scared to speak, just staring at her.
Mom would get even angrier, tossing the cake
in the trash. After she went into her room, I
looked at Chloe, tears in my eyes. With no
one else around, she’d finally show her true
L
colors.
Ten–year–old Chloe, with a gentle smile on
her face, would spit out words like poisoned
daggers. “Ashley, why were you even born?”
She’d caress my cheek with her warm
fingertips, then suddenly pinch hard. “Mom
and Dad only loved me. Now you’ve stolen
their love. You should have died with your
brother.”
I never understood why she hated me so
much. Yet, after Zach was born, she was
good to him.
During my senior year of high school, Zach
was about to start ninth grade. It was a
く
crucial year for him, but Dad was too busy
with work, and Mom was up for a promotion.
Mom wanted me to apply to local colleges so
I could help take care of Zach. I refused.
She gave me an icy stare. “Ashley, do you not
understand our family’s situation? How can
you be so inconsiderate?”
After I left for college, 22–year–old Chloe
suddenly decided she wanted to learn piano.
Mom had my bed and wardrobe thrown out,
my clothes packed into boxes and shoved
into the storage room. My bedroom became
Chloe’s piano room.
She posted a video on social media of her
<
sitting at her expensive new piano, sunlight
streaming in, a peaceful smile on her face. I
called home. Mom, still angry about my
disobedience, answered coldly, “You’ve grown
up and don’t listen to me anymore. You’re not
planning on coming home anyway, so what’s
the point of keeping your room?”
Chloe took the phone. “Ashley, please don’t
make Mom angry. When you come home, you
can share my room. We’ll make space for
you.” Even though she tried to hide it, there
was a hint of amusement in her voice.
I’d only been gone a month, and she couldn’t
wait to kick me out. And Mom allowed it,
encouraged it.
