They continued their little performance, oblivious to my existence, parading around as the perfect family of four. And there I stood, like a prisoner awaiting the gallows, my voice stuck in my throat, unable to defend myself.
“What are you staring at? Do you want to harm Erica again?” Everett finally spared a moment to come to his precious sister's rescue, his tone dripping with righteous indignation. “She begged us to wait for you so we could celebrate New Year’s Eve together. But instead of coming home, you were out messing around with God-knows-who. And the moment you return, you pick a fight with Erica! How could I have a sister with such a venomous heart?”
Everett finally found time in his perfect little life to defend his precious sister. My parents stood behind him, cheering him on like they were rooting for some kind of prize fighter. They had completely forgotten that Erica was the daughter of their sworn enemy—the same person who tried to ruin the DuPont Family name and swapped us out when we were babies.
“What now? You lost your voice? Felling pain from your stomach cancer?” Everett taunted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Do you really think that I’m gonna buy it? We all know that you are an outstanding faker. Since you came back, all you’ve done is harming Erica. Now, get up and apologize to her!”
Before I could say a word, Erica was already sobbing, her eyes red as she put on her best act.
“Everett, please, don’t be mad at her. I take her place. She has a right to hate me.”
They looked at me as if I were some kind of stray dog, not their flesh and blood, not definitely not a sister. They had forgotten the truth—how it was only after Erica’s accident and her need for a kidney transplant that I was found and brought back.
Years of neglect and malnutrition had stunted my growth; I was a full head shorter than Erica and my thighs were thinner than her arms. I was forced to donate a kidney and more than half of my blood, to save her. How could someone as frail and broken as I possibly bully their beloved daughter?
“I'm sorry, Evangeline. I didn't mean for things to turn out this way,” Erica continued, her voice full of pity. “This is my fault. If I hadn't let them check your medical report, none of this would have happened.”
She cried, playing the victim, but I saw the smug glint in her eyes. She knew her secret would remain safe. Just like how she had stolen my meal card at school.
I turned to my mother, praying she would intervene, that she would finally stand up for me. But instead, she comforted Erica, asking me repeatedly if I’d lost the card myself.
With a weary sigh, my mother finally said, “Maybe it’s best if we just send her back. Pretend I never had her as a daughter.”
I met their cold, condemning eyes, my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach. In a daze, I pulled out the crumpled medical report from my pocket, nearly destroyed from being run over by a car.
“Mom, I need to tell you… This is my medical report,” my voice cracked as I handed it to her.
The paper was battered and stained with blood—my blood, from when I was pushed out of the car and slammed against the rocks. I trembled as I held out the last piece of proof, hoping beyond hope that this would finally make them see the truth.
Mom hesitated as she took the report. A flicker of doubt crossed her face.
Erica’s expression faltered. Panic flashed in her eyes, but she quickly masked it with worry. “Mom, watch it. There’s been news about the new spreading virus. That paper’s dirty, are you sure you want to touch it? I just don’t want you to get sick.”
Mom’s face darkened, but she still unfolded the report. Her brows furrowed deeper with every line she read. Dad and Everett leaned in to see, their curiosity overtaking their judgment.
Mom’s eyes reddened as she reached the end. For a moment, the air seemed to still.
My dry, aching eyes stung with the return of tears.
Mom had always said she loved obedient, well-behaved daughters. I had been obedient. I had been well-behaved. If they could give Erica, an adopted daughter, their unconditional love, then surely they could find it in their hearts to love me, their biological child.
They would take me to the best doctors to treat my illness. They would buy me warm clothes, cook me delicious meals and decorate a cozy room for me.
We would spend one last New Year’s together as a family. They would wish me a Happy New Year and they would say, “Happy Birthday,” to me.
I would fight this cancer with everything I had left, trying to hang on for just a little longer.
