I was only nine when the weight of Mom's illness pressed down on me heavier than the extra pounds I gained as a bone marrow donor.

For a while, my family served me sympathy on a silver platter. They spooned it out like a warm meal and celebrated me as their little angel—until Ginny dined with us as the adopted girl.

She was delicate and everything I wasn't. Suddenly, I was starved of my family's affection while she was full of it.

Then came the day she forced me to eat spoiled food that almost killed me. The taste was foul, but what left the worst aftertaste was the realization that my family wouldn't lift a finger to save me.

Not long after, my bone marrow was needed again when both my mom and my brother ended up in the hospital.

And just like that, they wanted their little angel back—the one who satisfied their insatiable hunger to be obeyed.

But I couldn't serve them anymore.

"What a pity," I said. "I don't save devils."

——

My mom... She was lying in the emergency room—clinging to life.

My bone marrow was her only chance, they said.

So I ate meal after meal—eight times a day, stuffing food into my mouth, forcing down every bite even when I felt like I would explode. I ate and ate and ate and didn't care if I felt sick. I was desperate to gain the weight that might save her, and I needed to do it fast!

Before I knew it, my arms and legs grew heavier. I looked in the mirror, and my face was round and puffy. I couldn't even recognize myself anymore.

But I didn't care how I looked. I didn't regret a single pound or layer of fat on my body. I wasn't exaggerating when I said I would go through it again if I had to. Besides, it's far easier to lose weight than it is to lose a mother.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I hit 90 pounds! My bone marrow was enough, and Mom got the transplant. She began to recover, and my family had never been happier.

But the relief didn't last long. The doctors warned us her leukemia could relapse again at any moment.

No, I couldn't let that happen! I didn't want Mom to fight for her life in the hospital again!

So I kept my weight up—in case she needed me again.

Little did I know that decision would come back to haunt me.

One day, Dad and my brother went shopping and came home with a skinny little girl.

"We found her wandering the streets," Dad explained. "She's an orphan. We couldn't just leave her behind."

So there she was—clinging to Dad's side and staring at me with those big, nervous eyes.

Oh my gosh! I finally had a sister!

I grabbed my favorite toy and ran over, super excited to welcome her into our family.

But before I could even say anything or touch her, she collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Tears streamed down her tiny face, and she looked so small, so scared.

I stood there frozen, my heart feeling heavy. When I thought I could help her, my brother pushed me aside.

"Stay away from her!" he yelled. "You're so fat, you didn't even notice you're hurting her!"

The words stung more than when I accidentally ate a raw garlic clove. I blinked and looked at him—at his hair, face, clothes, and body.

Was it really my brother saying those mean things? His eyes looked so big, terrifying like he wasn't even Charlie anymore.

What if this wasn't the same Charlie who left the house? My dear brother had never looked at me like that before.

For the first time, I felt so big yet so small at the same time.

My fingers were trembling, and I was afraid I might cry if I opened my mouth. I could only wave my hands, hoping they would not misunderstand.

I looked at Charlie, then at Mom, and then Dad. I wanted to tell them I hadn't even touched Ginny.

But they looked at me like they were disappointed. Like I was in trouble. Like they caught me lying.

I watched Mom gently pick Ginny up and whisper, "Oh, sweetie, don't worry. Betty didn't mean to scare you. She'll be careful next time. Right, Betty?"

No one wanted to hear me. It's like they'd already decided I was guilty. How come they believed I could hurt someone? It felt so unfair!

But how could I stand up for myself when all eyes stared at me impatiently, demanding an apology?

Ultimately, I could only look down and take the blame for something they believed I did.

"S-Sorry, Ginny..."

That night, the dinner table was filled with dishes Mom only made on special occasions: braised brisket, baked ziti, salad, garlic bread, and cheesecake with the words "Welcome to the family, Ginny!" elegantly written on top in whipped cream.

It was Ginny's first dinner with us. We were having a celebration.

I smiled at the creamy cake and even wider when my eyes landed on the platter of Buffalo chicken wings! The best dish in the whole universe!

The sight and smell made my mouth water. I could hardly wait to dig in and dip them into the bowl of blue cheese dressing!

But just as I reached for a piece, my brother pushed my hand away and grabbed the whole platter. My mouth opened in shock, and my heart sank into my stomach.

He smiled big as he handed Ginny the platter. "Here, Ginny. You gotta try this," he said. "Mom's chicken wings are the best!"

I put my hand back on the napkin on my lap under the table and stared at the chicken wings on Ginny's plate.

"Ch-Charlie?" I said quietly when the platter rested near Ginny, hoping he'd serve it to me, too.

But instead, he turned to me with his forehead furrowing like he was fed up. "You're already as fat as a pig!" he snapped. "Let her eat! Stop being selfish!"

I felt my cheeks burning like a pie left forgotten in the oven.

"I-I-I'm not!" I stammered, unsure if I was defending myself against being called a pig or a selfish girl. "I wasn't trying to stop her!"

I glanced at Dad, hoping he'd come to my rescue. But he only gave me a look that made me go quiet.

Pretty soon, tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I remember feeling so loved and special—Mom making my favorite food, Charlie always serving me first, and Dad paying attention to my appetite. The dining table used to be my haven.

But in a snap, everything just suddenly felt wrong and different.

The sharp clang of utensils on plates and occasional compliments on Mom's cooking screamed everyone's eagerness for the next bite. No one even glanced at my plate.

I felt invisible; nobody even seemed to notice I had left the table. Quietly, I ran upstairs, and that's when the tears finally spilled over.

For a moment, I glanced back at the dining room. Ginny smiled sweetly, thanking Mom and Dad like they'd just completed her dream.

In that instant, I felt like I was the orphan, watching someone else's family have the perfect dinner.

A metallic taste filled my mouth, and a mix of anger and sadness bubbled inside me.

Later that night, Mom came into my room with a plate of leftovers. The smell of the chicken wings I had craved all evening filled the air, but I had no appetite anymore.

She sighed and sat on the edge of my bed, her face etched with worry. "Ginny's an orphan, sweetie. Can't you just be a little kinder to her?"

Her voice was soft, but it made me feel like a villain.

I turned my back to her, pouting. "I don't want to eat anymore," I muttered, crossing my arms.

I wanted to scream that it wasn't fair. I wanted to complain and cry in her arms like a baby. I wanted to tell her how much I missed my family. But words got stuck in my throat.

Mom gently placed her hand on my back, and I felt consoled just like that.

I waited for her to say, "I'm sorry, sweetie," or "You will always be my daughter," or something. But then, we heard Ginny's cry downstairs.

My teeth clenched. Seriously? The one time I finally had Mom to myself!

Charlie's frantic voice followed. "Ginny! Oh no, did you twist your ankle? How bad is it? Let me see!" The next second, his voice rang out again, louder. "Mom! Dad!"

Mom instantly rushed out of my room, her steps loud and big.

The leftover food sat cold on my bedside table as I watched the car in the garage speed off toward the hospital.

Minutes passed, and I found myself staring at the gate, waiting. Maybe someone would come back. Maybe someone would sit with me.

But everyone was with Ginny.

They all left me in the house, wondering, 'Am I still part of this family?'

I cried until my body felt hollow like I'd drained every tear. Eventually, sleep sneaked in like a thief, taking my sadness away for the night.

Morning came too fast; a voice shook me from whatever dreamless sleep I had left. "Miss, it's time for school, the first day."

It was the maid's voice, not Mom's. Normally, it was Mom waking me up, so I blinked. I mumbled, "Yeah, I'm up," and dragged myself out of bed.

I went through my morning routine on autopilot—shower, brush my teeth, throw on whatever clothes I could find—before heading downstairs.

When I reached the kitchen, my stomach dropped.

Mom was feeding Ginny, spoon by spoon, like she was still a toddler.

It wasn't just that. Ginny was sitting in my seat, all snug like she'd been there forever.

Charlie sat beside her, his arm casually around the back of her chair. "Eat up. You're too skinny," he said, ruffling her hair like she was his actual sister.

They didn't even look up when I walked in.

"Morning," Mom said, her tone so casual I felt ignored.

Charlie didn't say anything. He just gave me a cold glance before turning away as if my presence had ruined the atmosphere.

I lingered at the edge of the room. But my stomach grumbled; I hadn't eaten anything since last night.

The grumbling felt like a storm was brewing inside me, making breathing hard as I stepped forward.

"That's… my seat," I said quietly, my voice barely making it past the lump in my throat.

Ginny stared up at me with those huge, watery eyes like I'd just yelled at her or something. She shrank back, clutching her spoon like it would save her.

Charlie quickly straightened up, his expression hardening. "She's sitting here. Let her stay."

I swallowed, feeling the room close in around me. "But… that's always been my seat…"

Ginny flinched. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I'll move." She tried to stand, but her foot caught on the chair leg, sending her crashing to the floor.

"Ginny!" Mom shot out of her chair, rushing to pick her up.

And then Mom turned to me, her eyes full of blame. "Betty, what's the matter with you? It's just a chair! Does it really matter where you sit?"

I couldn't even answer. My throat was tight, my head spinning.

It wasn't just the chair. It was everything. But no one seemed to get it.

Before I knew it, Charlie shoved me to the floor.

"Ouch!" I cried. The cold tile stung my knees and elbow. But unlike Ginny, no one came to help me.

Charlie glared down at me like I deserved it. "Get up, you fat pig!"

I looked at Mom, silently begging her to say something—to stop Charlie from calling me names and scold him for pushing me.

But she was silent. She just held Ginny close, her expression unreadable.

The tears I'd held back for so long finally pushed them to the surface.

Why was it always me?! Why was I always the problem?

For the first time, I walked to school alone. No Mom holding my hand, no comforting words to help me manage the anxiety bubbling up inside.

It felt like the start of something bad, but I kept pushing forward. Maybe it was better than going back home, I thought.

When I finally got to class, I dropped into my seat, trying to blend in with the background.

But before I could even settle in, a sharp pain shot through the back of my head.

I whipped around, and there he was—a boy, grinning like he'd just pulled off the prank of the century. His nameplate read: [Angus Whitman.]

His hand still raised, he balled up another piece of paper and flicked it right at me.

The crumpled ball hit me square in the nose and dropped to the floor.

I didn't flinch. I just stared at him, my mind racing. First day of school, and this guy had the guts to pull this?

"What are you staring at, ugly freak?" He sneered like he was taunting me.

My hands curled into tight fists. Every muscle in my body wanted to lunge at him, to show him I didn't deserve another crap like that.

But before I could move, a familiar voice rang out across the room. "Betty! What the hell are you gonna do, huh?!"

Charlie.

I looked up, my heart sinking.

There he was, standing in the doorway with Ginny by his side, playing the protective brother.

The boy who'd thrown the paper ran over to my brother, still grinning like the jerk he was. "Dude, I just don't get it. Why's your sister so ugly? If I were you, I'd be embarrassed to be seen with her."

This was it. Charlie was going to defend me. He had to, right?

I waited for him to knock the punk out, to put him in his place.

But instead, my brother just glanced at me with a look—one that felt like embarrassment, maybe even disgust.

"Betty, Angus is right," Charlie said, his voice flat. "You always fight people. Just… stop it."

I froze, disbelief washing over me. My fists loosened as the fight drained out of me.

I had been ready for Charlie to stand up for me, to have my back like brothers are supposed to. But all I got was this huge, aching disappointment.

"Charlie…" I whispered, but he didn't glance in my direction like he didn't hear me.

Angus, seeing an opportunity, grinned wider and then turned to Ginny. "Whoa, dude! Who's that pretty girl?"

Ginny blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She shot him this shy smile that made my chest tighten with jealousy.

Charlie, beaming with pride, slung an arm around her shoulders. "Well, this is my other sister, Ginny!"

Angus looked Ginny up and down. "Yeah, no doubt about that. She's way better than that freak over there!" He nodded toward me, laughing.

Before I knew it, a group of boys had crowded around Ginny, eager for her attention.

Charlie barely reacted, but when he did, it wasn't to defend me.

"Hey, hey, hey, back off! Stay away from my sister!" he barked, but there was no anger—just a proud smirk as he looked at Ginny.

I sat there, sinking deeper into my seat as the humiliation burned my face.

My brother stood there like a hero—but not for me.

Before I could stop myself, I shoved my chair back and stormed out of the classroom. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't stop. I didn't know where I was going.

All I knew was I couldn't bear it anymore.

That boy named Angus.

And Charlie.

Especially Ginny!

It didn't take long for my parents to receive my teacher's report that I'd skipped the first day of class.

I stumbled through the door, my palms and knees raw from falling in the dirt, my clothes torn and streaked with mud.

I tried to sneak past them, but Dad was already sitting on the couch. His arms crossed, and a heavy frown was on his face.

"Why did you skip class?" His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it.

I opened my mouth. I was prepared to explain everything. But before I could get a single word out, Charlie jumped in, grinning like he'd been waiting for this moment.

"Oh, she's just mad 'cause everyone likes Ginny more," he said, a smug grin spreading across his face.

He stuck his tongue out at me like he always did when he thought I was a loser. "Such a little brat!"

"No! That's not— I didn't—" I stammered, my words tangled in my throat, desperate to make them understand.

But then Dad slammed his hand down on the coffee table with a crack that made me jump.

"Go to the attic and think about what you've done!" he shouted, his face red with anger.

My heart raced, and my eyes darted to Mom, hoping she'd say something and step in like she usually did when things got bad.

She glanced at my scraped knees, her face softening for a split second. I thought maybe—just maybe—she'd defend me.

But then Dad's voice cut through the room like a whip. "Do not interfere, Irine! She needs to learn a lesson!"

Before I knew it, his hand was wrapped around my arm, yanking me up the stairs. I stumbled behind him, trying to keep my balance, my legs shaky from the pain and fear.

"I am Henry Franklin! I will not tolerate a child who is petty and selfish!"

His words sliced through me harder than anything Charlie had ever said.

Dad shoved me into the attic. And then the door slammed shut behind me with a hollow thud. He left me alone in that dark, suffocating, damp space.

The silence was eerie and deafening. I crumpled to the floor, feeling the sting of my scraped palms and the ache in my heart.

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable. I tried to stop them, but it was like holding back a flood.

Everything hurt.

And then, I heard her voice.

Ginny.

She was standing there in the shadows. Her eyes glinted with that smug look she always had when she knew she'd won.

"Betty," she said softly, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "pretty soon, your dad, mom, and brother? They're all gonna be mine."

Her words hit me like a slap. I blinked at her, my mind reeling.

"Why should a fat girl like you get all their love while I'm an orphan?" she sneered, taking a step closer.

I couldn't move. I couldn't even cry anymore. I just stared at her, numb and confused.

Why? Why did she hate me this much? What had I ever done to her?

Before I could even process it, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my hair. She yanked me down hard, slamming my head against the floor with a sickening crack.

I gasped. The shock of pain spread through my skull as blood started to trickle down my face.

But Ginny was merciless! She kept hitting me, over and over, her grip as brutal as her words!

I tried to fight back, but she was stronger than I imagined.

My arms felt weak. I was powerless against the monster she unleashed.

All I could do was lie there, broken and bruised, wondering how it had all come to this.

Then I heard slow footsteps on the stairs.

Mom!

"What happened? Did someone fall?" she asked.

For a brief, desperate moment, I thought I was saved.

I could barely get the words out, my voice shaky. But I called, "Mom! Mom, help! Please!"

The footsteps quickened, and I let myself hope—just for a sec—that she'd finally see what was really happening. That she'd save me, too.

But Ginny's hand released my hair just before Mom opened the door.

In one horrifying moment, Ginny messed up her own hair, and then, with terrifying precision, she grabbed my hand and scratched her neck with it. Deep, angry red marks appeared instantly.

When Mom burst through the door, everything slowed.

Ginny was on the floor—her eyes wide and tearful, her face bruised and pitiful.

"Ginny!" Mom screamed, rushing to her side, arms wrapping around her like she was the one in danger. "Oh, sweetie, don't be scared. I'm here, I'm here..."

And then, she turned to me, her eyes full of fury.

She didn't hesitate. Her hand flew across my face before I even saw it coming.

The slap sent me crashing to the ground, the sting so sharp it took my breath away.

"Oh, dear lord! How could you do this, Betty?" Mom's voice was thick with disbelief. She couldn't fathom that her own daughter would do something so cruel.

"What were you thinking?" Her voice cracked with anger and a deep, cutting disappointment that shattered me more than the slap.

I looked up at her, wanting to explain and scream the truth. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled in the pain and humiliation.

Behind her, Ginny was smirking.

She always wore that smug, victorious smile when she knew she had won.

And maybe she had...

Dad and Charlie appeared in the doorway, their faces taut with concern.

"Ginny, sweetie, what happened?" Dad asked, his voice softening as he crouched down to her level.

Ginny, still sniffling, pulled a piece of candy from her pocket, her eyes glistening with fake tears.

"I just wanted to give this to her… to say sorry… but she said I stole all your love, and then she started hitting me..."

I felt my blood boil. My heart raced as I scrambled to my feet, rage surging through me.

"You're a liar! You hit me! You're the one who did that to yourself!" I yelled, but it was like shouting into the void.

Dad's face turned an alarming shade of red, his anger bubbling over.

"Shut up!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the cramped attic. He grabbed my shirt, yanking me down to my knees. "How did you turn into such a liar? How could you be so cruel?!"

My tears flowed freely, each a mix of frustration and pain. My whole body trembled with the weight of it all.

When Dad finally let go of me, he turned back to Ginny, his voice shifting to a soothing tone.

"Ginny, sweetie, don't be scared. If she hits you, you can hit her back. It's only fair."

His words struck me like a punch to the gut, and the attic spun as I tried to process what I was hearing.

Dad was telling her to hurt me more?