The original plan was to have Calla's birthday party at our family's mansion home. When they brought out the custom five-tier cake, I felt a sudden push from behind. Thrown forward, I landed directly on the cake.

I will never forget the laughter of the guests and the anger in my parents and brother's eyes whilst I was covered in frosting and fruit. They claimed I was jealous of Calla and had ruined her birthday out of spite. I tried to explain, but no one believed me.

"It's no wonder the orphanage director said you had a bad attitude. You're beyond hope, Frida!" Harvey scolded. "Calla and I were the only ones behind you earlier. What? Are you going to say we pushed you?" He looked at me with disgust as if I were something vile, then grabbed me by the arm and threw me to the floor.

My knee hit the ground hard, and the pain twisted my face into a mask of agony. It made my already pitiful appearance even more pathetic. The stares from everyone around felt like daggers, but the one that cut the deepest came from my family.

My parents gave me a disappointed look before ordering the house help to lock me in the basement. Then they took their "wronged" little princess Calla and flew off to the Maldives that very night, renting a luxurious yacht to celebrate her birthday all over again.

I was left to suffer in the basement.

When I was swapped at birth, I ended up in an orphanage. The director, Bethany Marsden, who seemed so kind on the outside, secretly loved mistreating me. Whenever I made a mistake, she would lock me in a pitch-black room. One could not tell how much time passed in there. Even adults would break down in such a place, let alone a child. I had almost forgotten those dark memories, but what my family did to me brought them all back.

The terror left me screaming desperately. I clawed bloody marks into the basement door as I begged for them to let me out. It proved useless though. And that was when I realized that no one was home. They had abandoned me.

I frantically called Harvey and my parents, even texting them, pleading to be released. However, they had blocked my number. None of my messages or calls got through. They were determined to punish me.

When I was on the brink of breaking down, I suddenly smelled something like rotten eggs—gas.

I quickly realized there was a gas leak, but the door was locked tight. I couldn't escape. I huddled in the corner, trying to cover my nose and mouth with my clothes.

Unfortunately, the lights flicked on, and the entire house exploded. I was thrown several meters and my body was torn up from the blast. I did not even leave a whole corpse behind.

My family knew nothing of what had transpired.

Harvey impatiently pulled out his phone and tried calling me. But my phone was long gone, destroyed in the explosion, so there was no answer.

This had never happened before. I had set special ringtones for each of my family members and always answered right away. For the first time, my radio silence made Harvey frown, a hint of unease crossing his face.

Calla quickly came over when she noticed, looking concerned. "Is Frida mad?"

Harvey's worry vanished instantly as he retorted, "She has the nerve to be mad after what she did? She should be kneeling and apologizing to you! This is your 18th birthday, after all!"

Calla looked sad but still smiled. "It's okay, Harvey. You've already made it up to me. Frida probably didn't mean it." Her words were sweet and considerate, making my parents and brother adore her even more.

Of course, it also made them despise me all the more.

I heard my mother mutter under her breath, "If only Calla were my real daughter... Someone like Frida... Tsk."

Oddly, I didn't feel any sadness upon hearing this. Maybe I had already given up on them. All I felt was confusion. If they didn't love me, why had they gone through the trouble of bringing me home?

My confusion was soon cleared up though.

After the party ended, everyone retired to their rooms. With nowhere else to go, I trailed behind my parents.

Dad sat on the sofa, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. Mom pulled out a bunch of medicine from the suitcase and placed it on the table before him.

"Honey, you really should go to the hospital," Mom said. "The lab just called, and the results are in. Frida is a kidney match. You can finally get the surgery."

Dad sighed. "But she's so selfish. What if she refuses to donate her kidney to me?"

Mom scoffed, setting down her cup on the coffee table with a heavy thud. "Why would she refuse? It's just a kidney. Once she donates it, we'll take care of her for the rest of her life." She huffed. "Honestly, if it weren't for your health, I would never want someone like her around us. Ever since she came to our house, Calla has suffered so much."

Dad looked upset as he said, "Alright, enough. Frida is still our biological daughter. If not for Calla's birth mom, Frida wouldn't have ended up in that orphanage. It doesn't look like Frida suffered much, but she was still wronged."

Mom rolled her eyes, countering, "Wronged? Didn't you hear what Ms. Marsden said? She raised Frida like a daughter. That is until Frida nearly killed her! That heartless brat deserves what she gets." She paused, then added in rising exasperation, "Besides, how is Calla's mother's doing any of Calla's fault?"

Dad seemed to agree with what Mom said. He took his medicine and replied, "Okay, okay. I wasn't blaming Calla. It's just bad luck for Frida, I suppose. You're right though. Once Frida has donated her kidney, we can buy her a place and keep her out of our hair."

Mom finally seemed satisfied. "Yes, that's fair. Calla's the only daughter I truly care about. Get Frida a place far away, so I don't have to see her. I'd hate for her to ruin things again."

My parents chatted for a while longer before turning off the lights and heading to bed. No one saw me standing there in stunned silence for over half an hour.

So this was the reason. My parents brought me back just to take my kidney. They had kept me at arms' length because they believed the horrible things Bethany had said about me when she was the one who abused me. They genuinely did not love me.

I suddenly felt like a joke and started laughing at myself, my tears falling uncontrollably. Why? I genuinely thought I would be loved, but everything was just a scheme.

After I calmed down, I went to my parents' bedside to watch their sleeping faces. They resembled what I imagined parents to be when I was young. Dad was tall and handsome while Mom was gentle and beautiful. But now, I found their faces despicable.

These people were not my parents. They were Calla's parents. They would not protect me, only her. All this while, they had never believed me.

Resentment grew within me. I extended a hand, lingering around Mom's neck, but I couldn't do it. What people said was right. Parents might have plenty of children, but a child only has a set of parents. No one had taught me how not to love my parents when they did not love me.

I crouched down in the corner, trying to make myself feel better.

Suddenly, Dad's phone rang, breaking the quiet night. He answered, groggy, and I overheard the voice on the other end.

"Is this Mr. Yeldham? There's been a gas leak explosion at your home, and we found a young woman's body at the scene. Would you be able to come down and help with the investigation?"

I was taken aback at first, but I quickly understood. The explosion had been really loud, so the neighbors must have heard it and called the police.

Was my family about to find out I was dead?

Dad hung up the phone, and I watched my parents' expressions closely, hoping to see some hint of concern over the news.

I was disappointed.

Mom just looked annoyed, complaining, "I told the staff to double-check everything before we left. How could there be a gas leak? What is Frida playing at now? She's always sneaking around. She must've broken out of the basement to mess up Calla's birthday again."

Dad, frowning, nodded in agreement. "She hasn't changed one bit. Forget her. Let's just enjoy our time with Calla and deal with this when we get back."

I had imagined many different scenarios, but never that they would simply ignore the police's call.

The next morning, my family went on with their vacation as though nothing had happened. They even blocked unknown numbers from reaching their phones. Calla enjoyed herself immensely, though Harvey seemed a little distracted, checking his phone quite frequently.

Curious, I glanced over to see what Harvey was looking at, which turned out to be our text chat. The chat was filled with my messages, mostly asking how he was.

All my questions had gone unanswered.

Last night, I sent Harvey a ton of messages begging him to let me out. His only reply had been: [Just stay put until we get back. Then, apologize to Calla and I'll let you out.]

I wondered why he was reading our chat now.

Harvey typed something, hesitated a little, and then hit the send button. And I read his text. He asked what I was doing and why I was not replying.

I almost wanted to laugh. Harvey had ignored me so many times, and now that I couldn't reply, he was waiting for me. Maybe he cared for me, just a tiny bit, but I could no longer answer him.

"Is there something that interesting on your phone, Harvey?" Calla asked pointedly, clearly annoyed at his distraction. "You promised to spend time with me, but you're always on your phone."

At the sound of his precious little sister's voice, Harvey immediately locked his phone and put it away, ready to accompany Calla. Only Calla could ever make the arrogant Harvey act submissive and docile.

I suddenly remembered something from when I first came home. I had been carrying a heavy box filled with my old things from the orphanage—worn picture books, diaries, little knickknacks—I had collected over the years. Struggling with the weight, I asked Harvey to help me. But he just gave me a disgusted look and scanned me from head to toe with disdain.

"I'm not touching your filthy stuff," he spat.

I wanted to explain that my things were not dirty, but then Calla came in, complaining that she had stepped in a puddle. Without a second thought, Harvey crouched down to help her remove her shoes. I knew then that it was not my things he despised.

It was me he despised.

Harvey was not my brother, not really. Just like my parents, he had always belonged to Calla.