Until I was found and brought back.
Watching their intimacy, I envied them desperately.
Seven years of hardship had left me unable to fit into that kind of family warmth.
In her princess dresses, graceful Emily was a sharp contrast to me—skinny, gloomy, and joyless.
She could cling to them, pouting and wheedling, just to get them to take her to an Italian restaurant for dinner.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t even bring myself to say that my underwear didn’t fit.
In fact, I had never worn real underwear.
At the foster home, I only used strips of cloth to bind myself.
At that age, my chest developed too quickly for my thin body, attracting mocking stares and inappropriate comments.
Frightened, I scavenged an old worn vest from an elderly lady at the shelter and used it as a chest binder.
When she saw my struggles, she felt sorry for me and even cut off my long hair, making me look like a scrawny boy.
Still, I clung to the belief that my family wouldn’t despise me—that they would love me.
I grew my hair out again, tried wearing dresses, imitating Emily, doing everything I could to be a “proper girl.”
But no matter how much I tried, they always favored Emily.
Later, they even accused me of bullying her, of competing for affection, of trying to drive her out of the family.
Their resentment toward me grew stronger with each passing day.
Until my fifteenth birthday, when the fragile bond we called “family” shattered completely.
That day, they took Emily out to celebrate early in the morning. Not one of them remembered me.
When they returned at night, they found me sitting alone in the dark living room.
Emily was the first to step forward, holding out a takeout box with a sweet smile:
“Happy birthday, sis. I brought you some cake!”
I opened the box and saw a mangled piece of peanut cake, smeared with traces of other frosting.
But Emily knew perfectly well that I was allergic to peanuts. She had done it on purpose.
I didn’t eat it. I just left it sitting there.
Her eyes reddened as she bit her lip and whimpered:
“I know, are you mad at me…?”
Immediately, everyone scolded me:
“Can’t you stop picking on Emily? She doesn’t owe you anything. Stop exploiting our guilt to push her away, what’s the point?”
“This is exactly what we feared. That’s why we took her out alone for her birthday. Can’t you just let it go?!”
I was so fed up I picked up the cake and shoved it into my mouth bite after bite.
“Mmm, so sweet. Thanks, sister.”
That night, I nearly died from my peanut allergy.
While I was rushed to the hospital, Emily slit her wrists at home.
She left behind a note:
【I’m sorry. It’s all my fault for stealing my sister’s life. I almost killed her. The only way I can make it right is by dying.】
That night, they were terrified. They hovered around Emily, begging her to live.
They even told me not to come back.
Because Emily told them I had said she should die.
So they abandoned me in the hospital bed, cursing me, telling me not to return, afraid she’d be upset again.
But they didn’t have to worry. I really did have lung cancer. I was going to die anyway.
No one would hurt their precious Emily again.
And as for these so-called family members—I didn’t want them anymore.
My phone chimed again. This time, it was a message from Linda.
【Sarah… how did you become like this?】
【For the past two years, I gave you everything. Whatever Emily had, you had too. Why?】
