Chapter 1

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My mother always said the city was too expensive to raise two girls.

So, she dumped me at Grandma’s place in the countryside and kept my sister by her side.

Sixteen years later, I am the CEO of a multinational conglomerate, preparing to acquire my sister’s company.

On the due diligence report, her profile reads: "Only child. Loving parents. Wealthy family."

It turns out, I was never considered part of that family.

***

During the summer when I was eight, I finally figured something out.

My mother wasn’t broke. She just didn’t want to spend a single dime on me.

That day, Grandma took me to the city to see a doctor. I had a low-grade fever, my head felt heavy and dizzy, and I sat in the very back row of the bus, pressing my face against the window, watching the brick buildings rush past.

Grandma kept muttering next to me, saying how hard my mother had it in the city, that I needed to be understanding and not cause any trouble for her.

I nodded and said okay.

But the moment we got off near the shopping mall, I spotted her instantly.

My mother.

She was wearing a floral sundress I had never seen before. The fabric looked silky and shimmered under the sun.

Her hair was styled in soft, bouncy curls cascading over her shoulders. She looked more beautiful than the women on the glossy department store posters.

Standing right next to her was a little girl.

She was just as tall as me, just as thin, and shared the exact same face.

But that girl was wearing a pink princess dress with a puffed-out skirt that bloomed like a flower.

On her feet were shiny white patent leather shoes, sparkling with tiny crystals.

She was cradling a doll that was bigger than my head—a golden-haired, blue-eyed doll dressed in the exact same pink dress she wore.

My mother knelt, gently wiping the girl’s mouth with a soft handkerchief. Her movements were so tender, as if she were handling a priceless treasure.

And then, my mother smiled.

It was a smile I had never seen on her face before.

There was no impatience, no forced warmth, no furrowed brows. Her eyes curved into crescents, her lips parted, and her entire face seemed to light up.

I tugged at Grandma’s faded sleeve, my throat bone-dry.

"Grandma, is that Mom?"

Before Grandma could answer, my mother looked up and caught sight of me.

Her face changed instantly.

That expression is something I’ve remembered for sixteen long years. It wasn’t joy, and it wasn’t pity. It was sheer panic.

It was the look of someone who had just seen something that wasn't supposed to exist. Like she was looking at a ghost.

She grabbed the little girl's hand and spun around.

She walked away so fast she was practically running.

The little girl stumbled as she was dragged along, nearly dropping her doll.

She looked back once—just once. Her eyes were filled with pure confusion.

I wanted to run after them.

I wanted to scream, *Mom!*

But my legs felt like they were set in concrete. I couldn't move an inch. My throat felt like it was being squeezed tight, and I couldn't squeeze out a single word.

Grandma wrapped her arms around me.

"Don't go," Grandma whispered, her voice muffled against my hair. "The city is too expensive. You have to be understanding of your mother."

That night, I sat in the dirt yard of Grandma’s small cottage, thinking for a very long time.

The city was expensive.

So, my sister got to wear princess dresses while I only got her hand-me-downs—sweaters with frayed cuffs and jeans that were always inches too short.

So, my sister had her mouth wiped gently, while I wiped my face with my sleeve, leaving dark smudges behind.

So, my sister got to stay by my mother's side, and I didn't.

We were twins.

But only one of us was allowed to be loved.

The other was just a spare.

I didn't understand what "spare" meant before I was eight. But after that day, I understood it completely.

Grandma’s cottage was in a dusty, remote town in Kentucky, miles away from the nearest county center.

It was a tiny, old house with three rooms and a fence made of dried cornstalks that rattled whenever the wind blew.

Grandma kept two pigs, a dozen chickens, and three goats. After I arrived, there was one more mouth to feed.

Grandma never complained. She just started waking up even earlier.

At four in the morning, while the sky was still pitch black, Grandma would gently shake me awake. We would light the stove, feed the animals, chop the feed, and boil oatmeal.

The oatmeal was so watery you could see your own reflection in the bowl. Grandma would scoop the thick parts into my bowl and drink the watery broth herself. When I tried to push it back, she would just force it back to me.

"A growing girl needs her strength," she’d say.

But no matter how much I ate, I didn't seem to grow much.

My clothes were always Serena’s old things, washed so many times they were practically gray and covered in patches.

The pants were always too short, leaving my ankles bare to the biting cold. My shoes were cheap clearance items Grandma bought from the local flea market for two dollars. The soles were paper-thin, and my feet would ache terribly after a long walk.

Winter was always the hardest.

The wind cut through the gaps in our thin walls like a knife.

I would curl into a tight ball under the blankets, shivering. Grandma would drape her own heavy wool coat over me and go sit by the fireplace to stay warm.

I would run my fingers over that coat. It was stiff, and the filling inside had bunched up into hard lumps.

I asked Grandma once why Mom never sent me a new winter coat.

Grandma was quiet for a long time before she spoke. "The city is expensive, Patience. Your mother is doing her best."

I never asked again.

But in my heart, I wondered—was Serena's coat new?

It must have been.

That pink dress she wore at the mall was brand new.

The fabric was so soft, the color so vibrant. It was nothing like the stiff, scratchy, faded rags I wore.

During Christmas, my mother brought Serena back to the countryside.

I stood in the yard, watching a clean SUV pull up. I watched my mother step out, and then I watched Serena climb down from the passenger side.

Serena was wearing a bright red winter jacket with a fluffy white faux-fur trim around the hood. She looked like a little princess straight out of a movie.

On her feet were pristine Ugg boots, also lined with soft white fur. She stood beside our mother, looking at me timidly with bright, clean eyes.

My mother glanced at me and said, "You’ve grown."

And then, she ignored me.

She went inside to talk to Grandma.

I heard them talking about how high the rent was in the city, how much Arthur’s salary was, and how Serena was attending a private bilingual kindergarten that cost thousands of dollars a term.

I crouched in the yard, listening to those words drift out of the window, each one drilling into my ears.

Serena walked over and stood in front of me.

She tilted her head, studying me for a long time.

"Are you my sister?"

***

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