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!

I did not know how I did it, but I walked out the door.

I did not even notice the icy wind numbing my arms and legs until I found myself standing by the river's edge.

The jacket I was wearing was the one Mom had given me last year.

Rubbing the fabric between my fingers, I could feel that the cotton batting had gone all lumpy.

I bet Edmund's jacket was still warm and puffy. Actually, there was no need to guess.

Then, my phone buzzed with texts from Mom.

Mom: [Why did you go out to play without telling anyone?]

Mom: [Don't forget, we're going to Grandma's early tomorrow for a family meal. Don't stay out too late.]

Mom: [I've washed and ironed your jacket. Wear it tomorrow morning.]

Mom: [It's important to me. Don't make the relatives think I don't care about you.]

It was important to her?

More like she wanted me to wear someone else's old jacket so she looked good in front of everyone.

I dropped my gaze to hide the chill in my eyes.

Frank: [Got it, Mom.]

The next day at Grandma's, the house was packed with relatives.

As soon as I walked in, Mom started bragging loudly. "Check out the new jackets I got for my boys! I got them both the same style. It cost me a pretty penny!

"I always treat my kids the same. I'm totally fair!"

Edmund's jacket fit him perfectly, making him look sharp and on top of the world.

Aunt Linda clapped Edmund on the back, gushing, "Wow, Edmund, you're looking sharper by the day! That jacket looks so expensive. You look like a big shot!"

Then, she glanced at me, her smile freezing for a second before she made a face. "What's with Frank? How can such a nice jacket look so crumpled on him?"

Aunt Carol, who was munching on snacks, could not resist adding her two cents. "Yeah, he looks like he's just come back from hauling bricks. He can't even stand up straight.

"They're the same clothes, but Edmund looks like a prince in them while Frank looks like..."

She did not finish her sentence, but I knew she was insulting me.

Instead of defending me, Mom joined in. "Ah, Frank is just unlucky. He was born to work hard and can't make nice things look good.

"The clothes are nice. It's just that the person wearing them isn't good enough to show them off properly."

As she said that, she looked me up and down with her sharp eyes, a teasing smile on her face.

Edmund quickly stepped away, as if he was afraid my bad luck would rub off on him.

The room was warm with the heat on, but I felt a chill deep in my chest.

"Frank, are your clothes damp?"

Aunt Carol, who had come up without me noticing, sniffed my clothes and scrunched up her face.

"Why does it smell like dirt and mildew? And there's a bit of a weird stink."

The other relatives sniffed the air and covered their noses.

"Yeah, it smells like it's gone moldy."

Mom's face went pale, and she quickly said, "You don't get it! That's the smell of the high-tech fabric! It's a special coating!

"The more expensive the fabric, the stronger the smell! Edmund's smells too, he just sprayed cologne over it."

Just then, my little nephew, who was playing on the floor, ran over and hugged my leg.

He was short, and his eyes were level with the open pocket of my jacket.

"Uncle, what's that white thing in your pocket?"

I froze for a second.

I had not really looked at the clothes when I got them back, so I did not know there was something in the pocket.

Mom looked even more worried than I did. She rushed over to grab it.

"Oops, that might be the little packet of powder that keeps new clothes dry. I'll get rid of it for you!"

I quickly stepped to the side to avoid her hand.

For some reason, I felt compelled to reach into the slightly torn pocket.

With everyone in the family looking on, I pulled out what was inside.

I laid it flat in my hand.

It was a wilted white flower and a crumpled piece of memorial paper.