But my mother would sneer, saying I walked too timidly, that I lacked the poise and elegance of Julia.
What she always forgot—or chose to ignore—was that the money for Julia’s beautiful, well-fitting clothes and shoes came from my aunt’s endless requests.
My mother never had money for me. But she always had money for them.
My aunt didn’t work. When she ran out of funds, she would turn to my mother, sending Julia to act pitifully and beg for pocket money.
As a child, I had no concept of money. My mother constantly spoke about how hard life was for my aunt, and how we had to help because we were family.
And so, I believed her.
I thought it was normal.
But then, my mother lied.
She told me we were drowning in mortgage debt. She made me take out my savings—everything I had set aside for my future.
And she didn’t hesitate.
She handed it all over to my aunt, just so Julia could have the chance to study abroad.
I realized something was terribly wrong.
Desperate, I threatened to end my life if my mother didn’t tell me the truth. She looked at me coldly and said,
"Julia wants to go abroad, so you should give it to her."
"Your grandfather’s last wish before he died was for me to take good care of your aunt. You know that better than anyone."
"Your aunt has had a hard life. Julia is better than you—why are you so jealous?"
I cried, I begged, I went on a hunger strike, but all I got in return was ridicule colder than winter.
That bank card held every scholarship and paycheck I had saved since high school—250,000 yuan. That was my tuition, my dream, my future.
Yet my mother only scoffed.
"What are you starving for? Your sister is the one who’s nearly starving!"
She stood at the kitchen door, her voice full of impatience.
"Bring out whatever you’ve cooked and let your sister eat first. She’s delicate—she can’t stand being hungry!"
She looked at Julia with nothing but distress.
Sixteen dishes were spread across the table. By the time I finished preparing the last one and placed it down, only scraps remained—some garlic, chili, and watery vegetable soup.
I picked through the leftovers, searching for anything edible.
"Forget it," I told myself.
It had always been like this—before marriage and after.
After eating their fill, my mother reached out and touched Julia’s slightly bulging belly, her eyes full of adoration.