My mother—who had been "bedridden" year-round—was draped in glittering jewelry.
She uncorked a bottle of wine with practiced ease, poured it into an exquisite decanter, then divided it among four stemmed glasses.
On the table sat a massive cake. The words on top read: Happy 18th Birthday to Lily Gilbert.
The woman who looked exactly like me raised her glass with a smile.
"Daddy, Mommy—let's wish my little sister I've never met a happy birthday!"
The three of them clinked glasses and drank it all in one go.
The remaining glass was probably meant for me.
Lily Gilbert was my name.
The ones celebrating my birthday were my parents and my older sister—the one I'd never seen.
But I had never truly known any of them.
All at once, confusion and panic swallowed me whole.
Mom sighed. "If only Lily could be here."
Dad's expression hardened. "One month left. She'll take the college entrance exam and complete the task. We can't give up halfway now!"
I froze.
A task? What task?
Mom dabbed at the corner of her eye. "It's all thanks to your 'raise her poor' plan. That's how we trained Lily to excel in both character and academics—to endure hardship and work hard."
"Raising her has worried me half to death."
"Pretending to be bedridden all day. The figure I worked so hard to maintain with yoga is going to ruin."
Dad drained his glass. "These years haven't been easy for me either."
"When Lily was home, I didn't even dare smoke a cigar. Held it in until my whole body ached."
Serena cut cake for them, her tone soothing. "Once my sister gets into college, we can come clean."
"The mansion, the luxury cars, the family business—it'll more than make up for what she's suffered."
"And you two can finally rest. No more pretending to be poor in that rundown dump."
Dad smirked. "Lily really didn't disappoint our careful training."
"Only a senior in high school, and she already earned twenty-four thousand dollars. She's got my style from back in the day."
Serena lifted her glass, smiling.
"I used that money to buy a bottle of '82 Lafite. Not a cent more, not a cent less. Consider it my sister showing filial respect ahead of time."
"On her behalf—thank you both for your hard work."
Mom looked indulgent, her tone gently reproachful. "Serena, you've got nerve."
"If you hadn't spent all your time playing around, would your dad and I have had to go to such lengths with Lily?"
Serena stuck out her tongue, stood, and clinked glasses with her parents.
"To the complete success of Lily's 'raise her poor' plan!"
The three of them raised their crimson wine and drank deeply, the atmosphere light and celebratory.
And I finally understood the full truth.
The illness was fake. The poverty was fake.
But in these eighteen years, my fear, my unease, my inferiority, my cowardice—and that suffocating guilt more unbearable than death itself—those were real.
They had conspired in a vile game. And the price was my life.
The last bit of money I'd traded my half-dead body for was sliding down their throats, mouthful by mouthful.
The pain nearly devoured my soul.
I wanted to scream at them—why did you do this to me?
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make a single sound.
At that moment, a servant rushed to the table clutching a paper bag.
His face was deathly pale. "Sir, I found a strange letter in the money bag the second young lady sent."
Dad took the letter casually. The moment he saw what was inside, his face went white…
