My mother had face blindness—she could never tell me apart from my younger sister.

Every time Penelope Fox got in trouble, I was the one who got beaten.

Senior year of high school, I ranked first in our entire school. Penelope ranked second to last. My mother strung me up and beat me for a day and a night.

I told myself she was sick. So I swallowed every grievance, every bruise, every scream that wanted to claw its way out of my throat.

Until three years into my first job, when I won fifty million dollars in the lottery. My first thought—my only thought—was to take my mother to the city to finally get her treated.

That's when I heard her talking to Penelope through the door.

"Penelope, I heard our neighborhood's getting redeveloped. I've already transferred the house into your name."

"All these years I've been faking the face blindness, giving you everything good. Whatever you do, don't let your sister find out."

I stood frozen outside that door, ice spreading through my chest.

So my mother wasn't face-blind after all.

She just loved Penelope more.

1.

For as long as I could remember, my mother called me by my sister's name.

Whenever Penelope broke a rule, Mother would storm over claiming she needed to "teach Penelope a lesson"—then beat me until I couldn't stand.

Whenever I brought home good grades, she'd announce she was "rewarding Corinne Fox"—then buy Penelope new clothes and toys.

When I was six, Penelope shattered the only memento our father left behind.

My mother came at me with red-rimmed eyes, feather duster raised, striking over and over until my vision blurred.

I sobbed through the blows, crying that it wasn't me, it wasn't me.

But she said we looked too alike. She couldn't tell us apart.

We looked nothing alike.

Penelope took after our mother—almond-shaped eyes, naturally curly hair that tumbled past her shoulders.

I took after our father—round eyes, straight black hair.

But my mother insisted she couldn't see the difference.

Senior year, I ranked first in the school.

Penelope ranked second from the bottom.

I came home that day glowing, certain—finally—that my mother would praise me.

Instead, she tied me to the ceiling beam and beat me through the night.

She said I was worthless. That ranking at the bottom of the class was a disgrace to our family.

The belt carved lines across every inch of my body. I screamed myself hoarse trying to explain—

But she didn't hear me. Wouldn't hear me. Her eyes stayed red and empty as the blows kept falling.

Only when exhaustion took her did she finally stop. She locked my door and went to sleep.

The next morning, my mother found me still hanging there. Covered in welts. Barely breathing.

She froze.

She stared at me like she was seeing me for the first time in her life.

Then, hands shaking, she cut me down.

"Corinne?" Her voice cracked.

"Oh God, what did I do?"

"Did I—did I mix you two up again?"

That day, my mother wept like her heart was being torn out. She touched my wounds with trembling fingers, apologizing over and over:

"I'm so sorry, Corinne."

"Your sister did so poorly on her exams. I just wanted to teach her a lesson."

"But I got confused again."

"I'm useless—I can never tell you two apart..."

Watching her hold me, crying so hard she could barely breathe, apologizing without end—

I felt something twist in my chest.

I couldn't bring myself to blame her.

Instead, fighting through the pain, I comforted her:

"It's okay, Mom. It doesn't hurt."

"I know you're just sick."

"Let's go to the hospital, okay? Once you're better, you won't make mistakes anymore."

My mother shook her head, tears streaming.

"Treatment costs too much. I don't want to waste money."

"I need to save it for your education."

In that moment, warmth flickered through my scarred and battered heart.

I made myself a promise: once I started working, I would save every penny I could. I would take my mother to get treated.

Then she'd never mistake me for someone else again. Never beat me for no reason.

All four years of college, I studied while working every job I could find.

I never asked my family for a single cent.

After I started working, I threw myself into making money even harder, not daring to rest for a single day.

Meanwhile, my sister dropped out of high school and lounged around the house doing nothing—either playing cards or shopping.

Mom always complained to me over the phone:

"Your sister has never been sensible. Mom can only rely on you."

"If one day my illness actually gets better, I'll make up for all the love I've missed giving you over the years."

I believed her.

I believed Mom loved me. She was just sick.

So when I found out the lottery ticket I'd bought had won fifty million, the first thing I did was request time off to come home and get Mom proper treatment.

I never expected to hear this cruel truth instead.

Face blindness.

Mixing up her daughters.

All of it—every single bit—was an act Mom had put on because she favored my sister.

For twenty-five years.

I was the only fool. Taking beatings, enduring scoldings, and stupidly feeling sorry for everyone else.

I stood outside the door. Suddenly, the lottery ticket in my hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

My legs went weak beneath me. I stumbled backward, unable to stop myself.

Hearing the noise, Mom turned toward the doorway.

The moment she saw me, her face—so warm and kind just seconds ago—twisted into something ugly:

"You little wretch, so you finally decided to come home? The neighbors told me you played cards all night yesterday and lost everything?"

"Do you have any idea how hard your sister works to earn money? Why can't you learn something from her?"

Mom's acting really was flawless.

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I still wouldn't believe it—this furious disappointment at "mixing up" her daughters was all fake.

She knew perfectly well I was the one working myself to the bone.

She knew my sister was the one gambling through the night and losing money.

Yet every time I came home after a full day of work, she'd point at my exhausted face and scream at me.

Calling me a gambling addict. Calling me unfilial. Saying that giving birth to a daughter like me was punishment for sins in a past life.

But when my sister came home after an all-night card game? Mom would fuss over her with such tenderness—washing fruit for her, massaging her shoulders and back:

"You must be exhausted after working all day."

"I'll make that useless waste of a sister take care of you!"

So after exhausting myself at the company all day, I'd come home only to be ordered around like a servant for my sister—doing laundry, cooking meals.

Because whenever Mom scolded me, she'd always slip in praise for "my sister."

So I always thought that even though she'd mixed us up, at least she recognized my worth.

I never imagined it was all just a way to manipulate me.

After her tirade, Mom reached out to grab my ear, just like she always did.

I shook off her hand. Stepped back. Looked at her with no expression.

Seeing me resist her for the first time in my life, Mom froze.

A second later, rage flooded her face:

"You ungrateful wretch! You lose all that money and you dare defy me?"

"Your sister worked herself to death at the company today! Get over here and massage her back!"

My sister watched me with a smug expression, waiting for me to obey Mom like I always did and serve her like a good little attendant.

But I didn't move.

I just looked at Mom calmly and said in a flat voice:

"Mom, drop the act."

"I heard everything."

A flicker of guilt passed through Mom's eyes. Then she decided to stop pretending altogether:

"So what if you heard?"

"Good. I'm tired of putting on a show for you anyway."

"I raised you this long—that's more than enough. I've already transferred this house to your sister. Even when it gets demolished, the compensation money won't have your name on it. So don't go getting any ideas."

I found it almost laughable. I couldn't help asking:

"Is that really what you think of me?"

Growing up, I'd pinched every penny until it screamed. Never bought so much as a piece of candy. After school, I'd rush home to help Mom with chores, trying to lighten her load.

After I started working, I scrimped even harder—never splurged on so much as a bubble tea. The moment my paycheck hit, I'd transfer every cent to her account.

I couldn't fathom why she'd think I'd scheme to get my hands on this demolition payout.

Mom let out a derisive laugh, arms crossed, looking at me sideways.

"Are you saying you're not?"

"All these years, you've been so meek and eager to please. You think I don't see it? You knew I was sick, thought I'd be easy to manipulate. Playing the perfect daughter to squeeze whatever you could out of me."

"You've been calculating since you were a child, always putting on that filial act. Not like your sister—she's simple, genuine, no hidden agenda. Her devotion is real."

Her words hit me like ice water straight to the chest.

So that's how she saw it. My devotion was performance. My sacrifices were manipulation.

While my sister's laziness and entitlement were just... innocence. And her half-hearted "how are you" texts whenever she needed money? Apparently that counted as heartfelt love.

Of course. To someone who doesn't love you, everything you do is wrong.

I didn't bother explaining anymore. Just took a deep breath and kept my voice flat.

"If that's how you feel, then there's nothing left to say."

"The house, the payout—divide it however you want. I don't want any of it. Never did."

My sister scoffed.

"See, Mom? You were right about her. Always putting on an act."

"Our house is worth five million in demolition money. If you weren't sniffing around for your cut, why else would you suddenly show up now?"

Mom looked me up and down with open contempt, nodding along.

"Exactly. Standing there playing the wounded martyr, pretending you don't care—you just want me to feel sorry for you and hand over some cash."

"Let me make this crystal clear: everything I have goes to your sister. Stop dreaming."

Watching the two of them united against a common enemy—me—I couldn't help but laugh.

"Since you're both so terrified I'll take a single cent, let's make it official. Starting today, we're done."

"From now on, I have nothing to do with either of you."

Mom and my sister froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily.

But a heartbeat later—as if afraid I'd change my mind—they scrambled to draft a severance letter.

Mom signed her name with a flourish, then shoved the paper at me.

"This was your idea. From now on, you have no claim to anything in this family!"

I signed without hesitation.

"Of course. And from now on, you have no claim to anything of mine."

I'd actually been planning to split my fifty-million-dollar prize with them.

Now? No need.

The ink barely dry, I turned and walked out without looking back.

I hadn't made it far when I nearly collided with my uncle, aunt, and cousin—they lived nearby.

Philip James spotted me first. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Well, well. If it isn't my brilliant college-graduate cousin."

"Heard you landed yourself a decent job after graduation?" He let out a mocking laugh. "Too bad my family's about to cash in on demolition money. Five million! How many lifetimes would you have to work for that?"

Philip had been a dropout and a delinquent for as long as I could remember, always drifting from one scheme to another. He'd never hidden his disdain for anyone who actually studied.

When we were kids, I never understood why he'd team up with my sister to torment me every time he visited—tearing up my homework, hiding my pens.

Now, seeing that smug, untouchable arrogance, it finally clicked.

He'd always known Mom didn't love me. That's why he'd never bothered holding back.

I couldn't be bothered with him. I moved to leave, but Aunt Diane Hale grabbed my arm.

"Corinne. I heard your mother already transferred the house into your sister's name?"