I was genuinely happy she'd come to stay with me. After all, since then, she'd always favored Melody more, but this time she chose me.

Whatever the reason, my mother really did come to cook for me, just as she said. But everything she cooked was what Melody liked.

Of course, I bought all the ingredients.

Every time she finished cooking, she'd pick out the best bits first—just like today—and send them over to my sister.

Leaving me only the leftovers.

 

Two meals a day, never missing a single one, always on time. And what I ate were the leftovers.

Whenever I bought something nice, my mother would think to send some to Melody. Yet she never once thought to get me anything from my sister.

I could not say she did not love me—she occasionally washed my clothes and took care of me when I was sick.

But comparisons were the worst. Compared to the affection my sister received, the little affection I received felt utterly insignificant.

My mother always prioritized my sister first; only when there was love left over would she give it to me.

My mother, flustered and annoyed, kicked the lunchbox on the floor.

"You've eaten like this your whole life, Sylvia. I only took what your sister liked—not leftovers. Why are you nitpicking?"

I couldn't hold back any longer and shouted, "Do you think I like it? I have no choice!"

Melody was a picky eater, only picking at the things she liked. The leftovers were either mine or my mother's.

I was young back then. My mother said kids shouldn't be picky eaters, patting my head and praising me as a good child.

But it wasn't that kids shouldn't be picky—it was that I couldn't be picky.

As I grew older, I understood my mother's favoritism, yet I said nothing to preserve the surface calm.

I watched her shower most of her love on my sister, all while insisting she wasn't biased.

I endured it.

But when night fell and all was quiet, I couldn't sleep.

I was not asking for perfect fairness, but surely she couldn't show such blatant favoritism?

I wasn't adopted, after all.

"These are all trivial matters. Why do you have to dwell on them? Don't you know I hate this calculating attitude of yours the most?” 

“Melody is different—unassuming and generous. If you were like her, how could I not cherish you?" 

"I can give it to you, but you can't take it by force. Do you understand?"