Chapter 3The Second Daughter

I knew everything. I knew about the misdiagnosis, their desire for a son, their hesitation-free choice to keep Chloe.

As long as they were willing to explain, even if it was the same lie, I chose to believe it.

Because deep down, I wished those reasons were true. I wished they cared about me, even a little.

"Mom, Dad, do you know what day it is?"

I sat on the cold bench, looking at my anxious parents.

They froze.

"What day is it?"

Recovering quickly, my mom smiled coyly. "I know, it's an auspicious day for property transfer! You silly child, being superstitious!"

Bitterness surged in my throat, suffocating me. "Today is my birthday."

Silence again.

Memories flooded back.

When I was first brought home, before I could adjust, Dad's business went bankrupt.

The big apartment, the car, the cabinet full of dolls in Chloe's room—all mortgaged overnight.

My birthday coincided with moving day. The truck rumbled downstairs.

Mom busied herself in the kitchen and brought out a bowl of longevity noodles with two pieces of bok choy. Red-eyed, she told me:

"Paige, I'm sorry. We have no money. I can only make you noodles. Look at your sister, she didn't even get noodles for her birthday. You need to be sensible and yield to her."

I thought Chloe really suffered. From then on, I stopped celebrating birthdays. I yielded everything to her.

I washed the dishes she didn't want to wash. I wore the old clothes she didn't like. I never asked for the toys she demanded.

Until the college entrance exam results came out. I held my acceptance letter to a top university, my fingertips burning.

In the living room, Mom was crying over Chloe failing to get in. "My poor baby, we can't afford two kids in college. How can we face Paige..."

Those words stabbed my heart.

Watching Chloe's grievance and Mom's tears, I silently stuffed my acceptance letter deep into a drawer.

That night, Chloe said she was going south to work to "support my education."

My parents sighed in silence. "Chloe is sacrificing so much."

She left that night with her luggage.

A few days later, Mom held a recruitment flyer. "Your sister is working. We can't afford your tuition. You should go work in a factory too."

For the next three years, I worked on an assembly line until my hands were calloused. I kept $50 a month and sent the rest home.

My parents always said Chloe was suffering in the south, making it impossible for me to mention going back to school.

Until I saw Chloe's video today. It wasn't that we were too poor for two bowls of noodles. The grievance of "poverty" was reserved only for me.

Mom's "suffering" meant Chloe didn't have to work in a factory. Chloe's "work" was studying abroad.

And I, who gave up my dreams and suffered for three years, was the fool kept in the dark.

The cold broadcast called Mom's number, pulling me back.

Looking at my anxious parents, I suddenly felt choked by that bowl of noodles from when I was twelve.