Suddenly, the door opened. Mom came in.

I tried to take her hand, opening my mouth, but nothing came out.

Mom, I'm not feeling good.

However, Mom just looked at me coldly and threw her phone onto the bedside table.

A video was playing on the screen.

It showed what had happened before I passed out.

At the start, I was curled up quietly in a corner. Then, abruptly, I began beating against the walls with my fists, pounding so hard that my hands began bleeding. The blood dripped down my arms and onto the ground.

When Mom entered the room, I was slapping myself hard. My arms were covered in bite marks.

"I don't know what happened," I said, scared, as I stared at the screen. I had no memory of this happening.

What should I do? I looked at Mom pleadingly.

Mom snorted coldly. "So, you're fine now that you're in the hospital? Yvonne was right. You were just acting." She picked up the bag from the table. "Yvonne is craving a shrimp cocktail."

All of them left.

I was left alone in the hospital.

The next day, the nurse came in to change my bandages for me. A doctor followed. He was the doctor who had diagnosed me in the first place. His name was Jack Willow.

"I'm sorry," I said to him, trying not to cry as I turned away.

I heard that my parents had gone to his office yesterday and threw a tantrum, calling him a bad doctor for diagnosing me with depression.

Dr. Willow was as kind as ever. He asked me if I wanted to go to therapy.

I did not look at him. I bit down on my lip so that my sobs would not be heard.

I did not deserve kindness.

…

My injuries weren't very serious, so I was allowed to go home a few days later.

When I got home, my family was in a celebratory mood as it was Yvonne's birthday.

In fact, it wasn't hard to remember, as I shared the same birthday.

However, no one remembered me.

Yvonne never let me celebrate my birthday with her.

When Dad saw me, he waved at me. "Come here, Yvette!"

I immediately smiled.

The birthday cake on the table was bigger than usual.

Maybe they finally remembered that it was my birthday too because of my injury.

"Go on, blow out the candles." Mom's voice was unusually gentle.

I closed my eyes and blew out the candles.

My eyes were bright when I opened them again. In the past, Mom would always praise Yvonne when she blew out the candles in one breath.

I waited for her to praise me, but it never came.

All I heard was Yvonne screaming.

"What have you done, you witch?" Yvonne grabbed my arm, her nails digging painfully into my skin.

I was confused and looked over at Mom and Dad. They looked awkward.

The cake wasn't for me.

Mom pulled me to the side and lit up the candles again. "Go on, Yvonne."

They stood beside Yvonne, looking at her fondly as she was illuminated by the warm candlelight.

Yvonne blew out the candles. As the flames went out, she opened her eyes and gave me a scornful look.

I stood at the side awkwardly like I did not belong in the family.

Dad finally noticed me. "Yvonne's not in a good mood today, Yvette. I'll buy you another cake in a few days."

So, they did remember that Yvonne wasn't the only one whose birthday was today.

It wasn't like I liked to celebrate my birthday, anyway.

When I was five, all the kids in my class were talking about what their parents did for their birthdays. Some of them were taken to a nice restaurant or a fun theme park. I was the only one who did not have anything to share.

I'd never been to a theme park before. In fact, I had never celebrated my birthday before at that point.

That was the first time I had rebelled.

I wanted to celebrate my birthday too.

For the first time, I blew out the birthday candles on the same cake as Yvonne did.

However, Mom had come back just then. She snatched the party hat off my head and scolded Dad for celebrating my birthday. "Don't you know that she's a dancer? She can't have cake!"

From then on, I was forced to stay in my room during Yvonne's birthday.

I was not talented in dancing, so I had to do extra practice to get Mom's approval.

"You're not as good as your sister," was something she would say every time I fell.

In order to practice dancing, I lost my playtime and my freedom.

I wasn't even allowed to close the door to my bedroom.

All this was fine as long as Mom was happy.

…

I returned to my daily life of school and dance.

Every time I fell, I would get back up again.

Yvonne pointed at me and laughed. "I knew she was good at acting. Look, she's perfectly fine now."

Only I knew what happened in the dead of the night.

I would cry alone in my bed. I wanted to cut my wrist, but I told myself not to be so stupid and childish.

So, I did not use a knife. I used a compass.

I cut myself lightly multiple times.

It didn't hurt. Sometimes, the wound would bleed, and I would feel relaxed.

I knew that this wasn't right, but I couldn't control myself.

If only I could die. Death would set me free.

My twisted thoughts filled my head, tussling for attention.

I felt like a fish out of water, left on the beach to suffocate and die.

Eventually, I found another way to deal with the pain: Xavier Chapman.

He was Yvonne's boyfriend.

Yvonne was right. I was a cruel person.

I hated her, and I hated our parents.

Xavier was a schoolmate of mine. We almost got together back then, but Yvonne set her sights on him.

She went to Mom and Dad and made them order me to let her have him.

They became a couple not long after that.

Mom had held me at knifepoint so that I would give Xavier up, but in the end, my decision didn't really matter.

Xavier was the one who agreed to be Yvonne's boyfriend.

I was never anyone's only choice.

"Yvette, you should step down. Yvonne's life is sad enough as it is," he had said as he wrapped his arms around Yvonne. "I only see you as my sister."

So, during our school's anniversary celebration, I got drunk and threw myself at him, calling his name sweetly.

He slept with his "sister".

Xavier and I kept our relationship between ourselves.

We were only lovers in bed.

When he attended our family dinner, I only gave him a polite nod on the surface.

Under the table, though, I brushed my foot against his leg.

I could feel his arousal, but my dear sister was oblivious. She leaned against him, feeding him a piece of her steak.

What if she found out?

I had a cruel thought: I really wanted her to see us.

Suddenly, Mom put down her fork with a loud clunk. "Yvette Skye, why did you only get second place?"

She was looking at the results of my most recent dance competition.

"Mom, I was sick on that day," I said softly.

"That's enough. Stop finding excuses for yourself. You can't even do such a minor thing. How useless," Mom dismissed. "If Yvonne hadn't gotten injured, you wouldn't even stand a chance here."

My mind went blank.

She was doing it again.

Unable to help myself, I threw down my cutlery too. "If Yvonne's so good, then why did you give birth to me?"

And if they had already given birth to me, why did they keep comparing me to Yvonne?

Dad slapped me, the crack resounding loudly in the air. My cheek swelled up almost immediately.

"You insolent girl!" he snapped.

That was right. Dad loved Yvonne, so he wouldn't allow me to say anything bad about her.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I ran out of the house and wandered down the street aimlessly.

Cars sped past me, caught up in the bustle of the city.

I suddenly had a thought. Would Mom and Dad feel sad if I died?

Eyes unfocused, I walked toward the center of the road.