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.