"You're right. I can't control you." I took a breath, steeling myself. "But listen closely: since Lily is the only daughter you care about, she can handle your future. Do not contact me again."
I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "Consider me dead. As far as you're concerned, I was never born."
I ended the call before they could respond.
Silence reclaimed the small rental apartment, heavy and suffocating. The ticking of the wall clock sounded like hammer strikes against my skull.
Mechanically, I prepared a bowl of instant noodles. The steam curled up, carrying the scent of cheap preservatives—a stark contrast to the feast I knew was happening elsewhere. While I ate, my thumb hovered over my phone screen before tapping open social media.
Lily had just updated her feed. A nine-photo grid.
The center image featured a massive red banner: $100,000 Dowry. The bold golden characters mocked me.
In the candid shots, Mom and Dad gazed at Lily with eyes full of tenderness. She wore a traditional red bridal gown, intricate gold embroidery shimmering under the lights. They looked like the perfect, happy family.
Her caption was sickeningly sweet: Thank you, Mom and Dad, for giving me the best love in the world.
I scrolled to the comments. Amidst the sea of congratulations, Mom's reply sat pinned at the top.
Silly girl, Mom and Dad will forever be your safe harbor.
A string of sun and kiss emojis followed. To any outsider, it was a touching display of mother-daughter devotion.
My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I enlarged the photos, zooming in on every smile, every loving glance.
A hot tear splashed onto the screen, distorting their happy faces.
We shared the same blood. We came from the same womb. Why were our worlds so different?
Lily and I were twins. She entered the world fifteen minutes before me.
According to my parents, Lily had been weak and sickly since birth. They dragged her to hospitals across the country, doting on her fragile health. I was dumped at my grandparents' house in the countryside and lived there until I finished elementary school.
Their excuse never changed: You stole your sister's nutrition in the womb. That's why she's sick. It's your fault.
They only brought me to the city for middle school because the village didn't have one. That was when my life as their live-in servant began.