Probably wanting to preserve his dignity, Dylan didn't follow.
Looking out the window, I saw him get a call and hurriedly get into his car and leave.
It was probably because Isaac's condition had worsened again.
Watching the car gradually disappear from view, a strange feeling stirred in my heart. I couldn't tell if it was relief or freedom.
2
I had no feelings for the Jones family.
Ten years ago, when I found out I wasn't Isaac's biological daughter, I only felt relieved.
The world in front of me became blurry, but the memories became clear.
A sigh seemed to pass through the layers of time, awakening something again.
My mom frowned angrily and said, "Haven't you played this piece many times? Why can't you still get it? Lydia can play it."
The girl, Lydia Lewis, standing by the piano, was sweet and clever. She had big, bright eyes. She was the daughter of a doctor.
Lydia never got shy when praised and smiled, saying, "It's because you teach well."
Lydia was neither humble nor arrogant. She was about my age but much better at everything.
She actually seemed more like the Jones family's pampered eldest daughter than I did.
In the sixteen years I lived with the Jones family, I always looked up to Dylan.
With Dylan, the genius, ahead of me, I was expected to be just as exceptional when I was born five years after him.
The elders all hoped I would be a prodigy like Dylan.
But I was timid and shy. At my tenth birthday party, I stuttered just trying to speak.
They said we came from the same family but were different. I was not that clever.
Whenever that happened, Dylan would just look at me quietly. His eyes were devoid of emotion.
As I grew older, my parents started showing me disappointed looks more and more often.
On my sixteenth birthday, someone said Lydia looked very much like my mother.
It was weird. Lydia was only half a day younger than me. I was born in the morning, and she was in the afternoon.
This timing became a point of suspicion.
Mother's hand slowly traced Lydia's face, outlining her features.
Her movements were cautious as if handling a rare treasure.
I stood on the outer edge of the crowd watching them.
The princess dress I wore suddenly felt like vines wrapping around me, tightening and suffocating me.
The guests whispered among themselves, turning to look me up and down.
Their gazes were mixed with either pity or ridicule, all weighing down on me.