My dad brought the illegitimate daughter home while I was in the living room eating an orange.
“This is your sister.”
“She's three months older than you. She'll be living here from now on.”
A girl stood in the entryway. Faded school uniform, washed so many times it had gone white. Big eyes. Shrinking into herself.
“Hello, ma'am. Hi… sis.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I-I won't be any trouble.”
My mom sat on the sofa, face ashen, nails digging into her palms.
I kept peeling my orange. Said nothing.
Last life, I'd fallen for every bit of that.
Felt sorry for her. Being born illegitimate wasn't something she'd picked. Her mother had just died, she didn't know a soul—so I gave her half my bedroom.
And what did that get me?
Two weeks.
Two weeks was all it took for the entire family to decide I was the bully.
But this time around?
I wasn't going to let her win.
……
At dinner she piled food onto my dad's plate and ate plain white rice herself.
My dad's eyes cut to me：“Look at your sister, then look at yourself.”
She placed top ten in her grade. I hovered around fiftieth.
Soon enough my dad was telling anyone who'd listen：“The eldest works hard. The younger one just wants to play.”
My allowance? Cut. Redirected to her study materials.
My birthday party? Canceled. She said celebrations reminded her of her dead mother. Made her sad.
I tested into the elite honors class. One phone call from my dad, and my spot went to her.
“Your sister's foundation is weak. What difference does it make where you study?”
College applications—she sobbed about how she couldn't bear to lose her little sister. My dad switched my first choice from Harbor City to a local school.
I brought a boyfriend home. She locked herself in her room. Next morning her eyes were red and she said she envied me—having someone who loved me.
Word reached his mother. Engagement off. Our family was "too complicated."
At thirty-two I finally scraped together a down payment.
She handed my dad her entire savings, crying so hard she could barely get the words out：“If she moves away, this family is finished.”
No apartment.
My dad slammed the table：“Your sister put up every cent she has, and you still want to run off and live the good life? Where's your conscience?”
Forty years old. Clerk at a small company. Five thousand a month.
No marriage. No kids. No place of my own.
And her? Bank branch manager. Married a civil servant. Son and a daughter. Big apartment downtown.
New Year's she'd waltz in with a carton of milk and the whole family would coo about what a devoted daughter she was.
I was in the kitchen doing dishes. She was in the living room, chatting with Dad.
“Dad, why is Athena still single? There's a security guard at my office—divorced, two kids, but he's an honest sort.”
My dad said：“Fine. Set it up.”
That night I stood at the sink watching the greasy water spiral in slow circles and thought: how the hell did my life turn into this.
Then came the breast cancer diagnosis.
No money for chemo.
She shared a crowdfunding post：“Be strong, sis. I love you. Always.”
Raised just over thirty thousand. Her contribution: five hundred.
The day I died, she posted again：“The person who loved me most in this world is gone. Sis, next life, let's be sisters again.”
Nine hundred likes.
Everybody's favorite big sister.
I read that post three times, and closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I was sixteen again.
“This is your sister. She's going to live with us from now on.”
The orange was still in my hand, half-peeled.
I looked at the timid girl standing in the doorway, and I grinned.
“Sis!” Sugary-sweet, voice pitched high. “Finally! I've been saving something good for you!”
I trotted over and grabbed her hand, all warmth, all smiles.
She flinched—pulled back for just a second—but with Dad right there she didn't dare shake me off.
I tugged her into the bedroom and pointed at the closet：“Cleared out half for you! Desk is fifty-fifty. You want the wall side of the bed or the edge? Actually, take the wall side—I don't want you falling off in the middle of the night.”
