My mom always said, "I've never played favorites.

"You and your brother mean exactly the same to me."

She said it so often I almost believed it.

Growing up, anything my brother had, I had too.

If he got a new pair of sneakers, so did I.

If he signed up for coding classes, I was enrolled in the same ones.

Even this year, when we came home for the holidays, my mom smiled as she handed each of us a neatly-packaged designer shopping bag.

"I picked these out for you two at the store. One for each of you, exactly the same.

"These outdoor brands are expensive, you know. A single jacket costs thousands. I'd never buy one for myself, but I don't mind splurging on you two."

I took the jacket. It was well-cut, structured, and looked high-quality. A small warmth stirred in my chest.

However, when I tried it on, the collar felt oddly irritating against my skin.

Frowning, I pulled back the lining to check.

There was a ring of yellowed sweat stains around the label, and tiny flakes of dandruff were caught in the Velcro.

A faint musty smell lingered on the cloth, mixed with the stale odor of cheap tobacco. It was sour and impossible to ignore.

My stomach was doing somersaults, and I felt sick.

I grabbed the clothes and ran out of my room.

"Mom, what's up with this shirt? It's all dirty inside and smells weird!"

My mom, Jane Larkins, was in the kitchen slicing up some fruit.

When she heard me, she almost dropped the knife. She looked a little nervous, but then she acted like everything was fine.

"Oh, that thing?

"It was on display at the store, so maybe some other people tried it on.

"The lady at the store said they were almost out of stock and that was the last one. I didn't want to bother her to look for more.

"I steamed it to clean it up when we got home. I must have missed the dirt.

"Just wear it for now, and it'll be okay once you wash it. Don't give the store lady a hard time."

Mom was always too nice.

When the grocery store overcharged us, she just smiled and let it go.

If someone did not pay her back the money they borrowed, she never asked for it.

"How can we keep a jacket that costs so much when it's been worn before and is this dirty? I'm going to return it."

Mom grabbed my arm, suddenly sounding really worried. "Why return it now? Don't be such a bummer!

"If you don't like it, just leave it be for now. Don't cause a scene at the store and blow this out of proportion!

"I don't want us to look bad over this."

However, the more she tried to stop me, the more I knew something was not right.

I did not think Mom did anything wrong, but I felt like a sneaky store had tricked her.

We paid for something nice, but we received something not so nice.

The next day, when Mom went out to get groceries, I grabbed the jacket and went straight to the brand store downtown.

The store was all lit up, and the people working in the men's section were very well-dressed.

I slapped the jacket on the counter and pointed right at the nasty stain on the neck.

"Are these the kind of clothes you sell for thousands of dollars? Have they been worn for ages?"

The salesperson paused, slipped on some gloves, and looked over the jacket closely. His frown grew tighter.

Finally, he looked up, a weird look in his eyes. "Sir, first off, this jacket isn't from our store.

"Also, this storm jacket is last year's model. We stopped selling it a while ago and haven't sold any recently.

"However, the most important thing is..." He pointed to a line of tiny text on the jacket's inner label and then to the fabric's pattern. "The real label has raised stitching, but this one was printed flat. And this material isn't Gore-Tex, it's just regular coated fabric.

"It's a poorly made knock-off.

"And by the looks of it, it's not a sample. It seems like it has been worn for quite some time."

My head spun. Was it a fake? Was it second-hand?

Did Mom really pay full price for a used counterfeit jacket?

Before I left, the salesperson showed me how to spot the brand's knock-offs so I would not get tricked again.

Stepping out into the chilly air, I clenched my fists.

Mom was so careful with money. I wondered how upset she would be if she knew she had been tricked out of thousands.

Then, out of nowhere, I thought of my brother's jacket. Was that also a fake?

I arrived home to an empty house. I dashed into my brother Edmund's room. There was his storm jacket, hanging up with the dust cover still on. I checked for the tell-tale signs the salesperson had shown me.

The label was raised. The fabric was stiff, windproof, and smelled faintly of new clothes.

The price tag was still on it, with the store's security strip stuck to it.

It was the real deal.

It was brand-new and the real deal. It even looked a little different from mine.

I just stood there, my eyebrows scrunched up.

Why?

Why did my brother get the newest model of this expensive jacket, yet I got a used fake?

Did someone trick Mom, but only with one out of two products?

'Could it really just be luck?' I thought to myself.

While I was trying to figure it out, I heard the front door open.

Mom and Edmund were back, laughing and carrying bags of all sizes.

When my brother saw the clothes in my hands, he came over with a grin and gave me a shoulder pat.

"Frank, Mom told me about your jacket.

"Mom works hard for her money. She saved up for a long time to get us the same jackets.

"Yours might have been tried on before, but a wash will make it good as new, right?

"Let's not make a big deal out of it. Don't stress Mom out."

For some reason, Edmund's words made me feel angry, like I was the one being difficult.

Before I could say anything, Mom popped a grape into my mouth.

"Exactly. If it really bothers you that it's dirty, I can get it cleaned for you.

"Don't let this little thing upset you. I'll pay more attention next time, okay?"

Mom looked at me with so much love that I had to take a deep breath.

How could I ever doubt her?

Maybe she just did not know better and ended up with a fake.

"It's fine, Mom. No need to clean it. I'll take care of it."

I swallowed the grape and pushed down my doubts.

Maybe it really was just a fluke.

I wondered until later that night, when Mom asked me to help her clear some space on her phone.

She complained that her phone was so slow, it could not take any more pictures.

I grabbed her phone and tapped on the photo album, ready to clear out some fuzzy pictures of trees and hills.

While swiping through the photographs, I stumbled upon a bunch of selfies of Mom from her trips.

In those hundreds of pictures, Edmund was always there.

There were some places I did not even know when they had visited.

Why did they go on trips without me?

I was about to put the phone down when a message from a group chat popped up.

Without thinking, I tapped on it.

It was just a regular group chat where people shared deals they had found.

I scrolled up and found some voice messages Mom sent three days ago.

"Wow, today is my lucky day! I found a fancy jacket in a recycling bin near some expensive houses!

"It was dirty and smoky, but it looked expensive.

"I'll clean it up, and it'll be perfect for my Frank."

Someone in the group said, "That jacket belonged to an old man, the father of a wealthy coal company owner. They were clearing out his old stuff after he passed away. I didn't even dare to touch it!"

"Stuff from someone who's passed away? Who knows if it's got germs on it? How could you let your son wear it?"

Mom replied, "It's fine! Frank's strong. He can handle it. He's had expired milk before and was totally fine.

"I'll spend the money I'm saving on Frank's jacket on a nice brand for Edmund. He's a junior manager now, so I can't have him looking poor.

"Anyway, Frank's so simple-minded. He believes anything I tell him."

Mom's proud voice rang in my ears, over and over.

She had not been tricked into buying that jacket. In her eyes, I just deserved 'junk'.

For the first time in my life, I realized something major.

However, I did not give up. I kept looking for proof that Mom treated Edmund and me the same.

I opened up their chat logs. It was clean, just filled with everyday talk.

I could not see a single money transfer.

The cleaner it was, the stranger it seemed.

I checked Mom's money transfers.

There it was: Mom had been regularly sending money to Edmund.

From a few hundred to tens of thousands of dollars, every single month.

As for me, Mom stopped giving me money once I grew up to help me 'become more independent'.

I got through college with loans and jobs.

Even when times were really tough, I still could not ask my parents for even a little bit of money to help.

I used to be jealous of Edmund, managing school and taking good care of himself.

Whenever I asked how he made his money, he just smiled weirdly. I thought he was being tight-lipped.

It turned out he just thought it was funny to see me so clueless.

The latest transfer was for $1800 that Mom had sent for shopping, with a note: [For your new jacket. Get the latest style, and make sure the packaging looks nice!]

I glared at the screen. My eyes stung, but I did not let myself cry.

If Mom could pretend a piece of clothing from the trash was new...

What about before?

I remembered my growth spurts back in middle school.

Mom gave Edmund and me warm milk every morning and night.

Edmund always said it was sweet and made him grow tall and strong.

However, mine always tasted weird.

The milk tasted a bit sour, and there were always weird bits at the bottom of my cup. Sometimes, they even looked like tiny chunks of cheese.

Back then, I knew it tasted awful.

When I complained to Mom, she would give me a fierce look and slam the dishes down.

"Your brother drinks it just fine. Why do you always have to make a fuss?

"It's cheap milk, so don't expect it to taste like liquid gold! You're just being fussy. If you don't like it, then don't drink it!"

Edmund would tease me too, wiping the milk from his lips and laughing.

"Frank, are you pretending to be sick so you don't have to go to school? The milk's great. Mom got us the special high-calcium kind."

However, I kept getting sick—really sick.

Once, I got so dehydrated from diarrhea that I ended up in the hospital at midnight, hooked up to an IV.

The doctor wondered if I had eaten something bad.

"No! He's always had a weak stomach and never gains weight, no matter what he eats. It must be natural causes," Mom said.

Lying in that hospital bed and watching Mom rush around, I felt so guilty.

I thought my weak body was dragging the family down and wasting money.

However...

My hands shook as I typed 'milk' into the search bar of Mom and Edmund's chat history.

So many messages popped up, going back years.

The latest one was from last month.

Mom: [Got another box of milk from the discount section at the store. It was just ten bucks!]

Mom: [The ones with red caps are past their expiry date. Give those to Frank! He's got an iron stomach. The blue-capped ones are still good, so save those for yourself.]

My stomach flipped reading that.

I was not weak.

My own mom had fed me spoiled milk for years!