1 Fairness was the golden rule in our house. My twin older siblings, Austin and Katherine, would throw absolute tantrums if they suspected Mom and Dad favored one over the other even a little bit. To keep the peace, everything in our home was divided into two equal shares. One for Austin, one for Katherine. Once, when I was little, I asked Mom a simple question. “What about mine?” Mom snapped at me. “Do you really think we don’t have enough drama with your brother and sister? Why can’t you just be quiet for once?” Then came the day we got a new car. It was a six-seater SUV. There were five of us in the family. On the morning of our big family road trip, I stood outside in the pouring rain, watching them load up. The two extra seats in the back were occupied. One held Katherine’s cat carrier. The other held Austin’s golden retriever. I stood by the open door, shivering and squeezed out. Austin protectively shielded his dog. Katherine rolled her eyes and shrugged. “We agreed on absolute fairness. No one touches my cat’s space.” Dad looked at me with deep irritation as the rain soaked through my jacket. “Don’t you have anything else to do?” Shivering from the biting cold, I forced a small smile. “Actually, I do. I am not going.” I turned around and walked away, immediately pulling up my phone to submit my study abroad application to my college advisor. If the fairness I had waited twenty years for was never going to come, there was no reason for me to keep standing in the rain. By the time I walked back to our empty house, I was soaked to the bone. As soon as I stepped inside, my phone buzzed. Mom had tagged me in the family group chat, asking how I planned to feed myself while they were away for the weekend. For a fleeting second, a warm ache bloomed in my chest, and my eyes welled with tears. I thought she cared. But before I could type a response, her next message flashed on the screen. “Do not touch anything in the fridge. It is fully stocked for Austin and Katherine, split perfectly down the middle. If you eat any of it, you will ruin the balance.” The tiny spark of warmth vanished instantly. I stared at the screen, desperately wanting to reply with a simple question: “What about me?” In the end, my fingers merely tapped out two words. “Got it.” I had asked that question a thousand times growing up. No one ever cared. It was as if everyone, including myself, had accepted that nothing in this house would ever belong to me. I pocketed my phone and searched the pantry, eventually finding a forgotten, stale loaf of bread at the very back. I ate a few dry bites, curled under my thin blanket, and finally drifted off to sleep, cold and exhausted. In the middle of the night, I was violently jolted awake by a heavy, wet bundle slammed onto my face. I gasped, pulling the cold fabric off my head. The hallway lights were blazing, and the living room was a chaotic mess of muddy boots and loud voices. Mom and Dad were grumbling about a sudden storm that had flooded the highway, forcing them to turn back. Katherine stood at my doorway, her arms crossed, glaring down at me. “What are you staring at? Are you deaf? Get up and wash my jacket.” Her designer coat was caked in thick, wet mud. The dirty water had soaked through my hair, leaving a sticky, disgusting residue on my forehead. Blinking away the heavy sleep, I whispered, “Katherine, please. I am exhausted. Can I do it first thing in the morning?” Katherine’s voice instantly spiked. “If you don’t want to help, just say so. Don’t make pathetic excuses!” Austin walked up behind her, tossing his mud-covered sneakers onto my floor with a dull thud. “If you are doing hers, you are doing mine too. Get moving.” Mom walked past the door carrying a basket of laundry, casting a brief, uncaring glance at my disheveled state. She frowned and immediately scolded me. “There are three kids in this house, and we believe in equal contribution. Your brother and sister have been traveling all day while you sat at home relaxing. The least you can do is help with some laundry.” Looking at their demanding faces, I wanted to laugh. It turned out their precious fairness was highly selective. When it came to dividing resources, only the twins got a share. But when it came to burdens, I was suddenly a full member of the family. Without another word, I quietly knelt on the floor, gathered the pile of muddy clothes and shoes, and walked to the laundry room. It took me nearly four hours to scrub the mud out of their clothes. By the time I finished, my vision was blurring, a warning sign of low blood sugar from hunger. I leaned against the wall and stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. Just as I poured it, Dad walked in through the front door, carrying a bag of hot takeout. The moment he saw me, he instinctively hid the bag behind his back. A fleeting, awkward smile crossed his face. “The portions were perfect for four, so I didn’t get you anything. If we tried to split it five ways, Austin and Katherine would have started fighting again. Oh, but the place gave us some complimentary roasted peanuts. The twins don’t like them.” I forced a polite smile and gently pushed his hand away. “Thanks, Dad, but I am severely allergic to peanuts.” Dad froze for a fraction of a second, but the realization barely registered. Before he could say anything, Katherine called out for him from the living room. He quickly turned his back on me and walked away. As he walked away, I clutched the kitchen counter, my fingers digging into the wood. A sharp, physical pain stabbed at my heart, but I didn’t even have the energy to cry. After choking down some water to settle my stomach, I walked back to the utility room to sleep. But when I pushed the door open, my heart sank. The small space was crowded with the suitcases they hadn’t bothered to unpack. 2 There was so much luggage that they had run out of floor space. To my horror, Katherine’s dirty plastic litter box had been tossed right onto my bed. My head throbbed with a sudden, sharp ache. I turned around and looked at the bright, laughter-filled living room. Mom happened to glance over. For a split second, our eyes met. I knew she saw my humiliation and distress, but she merely shifted her gaze back to the TV as if I were invisible. This was nothing new. I used to have my own bedroom. But when we were twelve, Katherine cried for weeks because her room was a tiny fraction smaller than Austin’s. To resolve the dispute, Mom and Dad sliced my bedroom in half, turning one side into Katherine’s walk-in closet. Austin had stormed out of the house in a rage when he heard the news. When he returned, the remaining half of my room was converted into his private gaming den. That was how I was relegated to the drafty, cramped utility room, freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer. Outside, the rain continued to beat against the window, water pooling on the cracked sill. It occurred to me then that I was just like that puddle, something inconvenient, pushed aside, and left to dry up. They had taken my room first, and now they were taking the last square inch of my sanity. I quietly pulled the door shut, locking out the warmth and laughter that would never belong to me. I didn’t sleep at all that night. There was simply nowhere to lie down. Early the next morning, my academic advisor, Mrs. Gable, called me to her office. She had wonderful news. My study abroad application to Australia had been approved. But there was a catch. “Since you are going overseas, the university requires a signed parental consent form,” she said, looking at me gently. “Have you discussed this with your parents?” I squeezed the hem of my shirt, my knuckles turning white. Then, I managed a bright smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gable. I will get it taken care of.” As I walked out of the administration building, I ran straight into Mom. Beside her was Katherine, whose eyes were red and swollen from crying. She was clinging to Mom’s arm, whining loudly. “Mom, it is not fair! Austin got the MVP trophy for his basketball tournament, and I have absolutely nothing. Everyone is going to laugh at me!” Seeing them like this used to make me ache with jealousy. Now, I merely glanced at them and tried to walk past. But Mom suddenly grabbed my wrist, her grip tight and demanding. “Gemma, didn’t you win that national design competition last month? Give the medal to Katherine.” She spoke as if it were the most natural request in the world. “You know how competitive she is with her brother. She will be miserable for weeks if she doesn’t get something to show off.” For a second, my mind went entirely blank. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Mom,” I whispered, my throat tight and dry. “I worked on that project for six months…” Mom cut me off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I know you studied hard, but what good is that medal doing you anyway? It means more to your sister. If you keep holding onto it, are you just trying to ruin the peace in this family?” My eyes widened. A torrent of suppressed anger and grief rushed up my throat. Why was the peace of this family always built on my sacrifice? What about me? What about my hard work? But then, my fingers brushed against the parental consent form in my bag. The anger instantly crystallized into cold resolve. “Fine,” I said, my voice flatter and colder than it had ever been. “I will hand over the medal. But only if you sign this document right now.” Mom didn’t even hesitate. She grabbed the paper from my hand, hastily scribbled her signature on the line, and turned back to Katherine with a triumphant smile. She didn’t even look at the words “Study Abroad Program” printed in bold letters at the top of the page. Katherine stopped crying and beamed, deliberately bumping her shoulder against mine as they walked away. She cast a smug look over her shoulder. “You should have just agreed in the first place instead of making me cry.” She spoke with absolute certainty, secure in the knowledge that half of everything in this world belonged to her by default. I didn’t say a word. I simply clutched the signed consent form close to my chest like a lifeline. 3 The moment Katherine got her hands on my design medal, she posted a picture of it on Instagram. Naturally, Austin couldn’t let her have the spotlight. He demanded a party to celebrate his MVP trophy, so Mom and Dad decided to throw a joint celebration for both of them. They scheduled the party for the exact day of my twentieth birthday. It was a milestone birthday, and I had been looking forward to it for months. I had confirmed weeks in advance that everyone would be free. But all my quiet hopes felt utterly pathetic now. In the private dining room of the upscale restaurant, Mom and Dad offered me a hurried, dismissive explanation. “We can always celebrate your birthday next week, Gemma. If we don’t do this joint party now, your brother and sister will start fighting again. They are just competitive. Try to be the bigger person.” I forced the corners of my mouth up in a stiff nod. The words “This is likely the last birthday I will ever spend with you” remained locked behind my teeth. The waiters wheeled in a massive, elaborate cake. Austin and Katherine stood side by side behind it, their faces glowing with pride. The room was filled with relatives cheering and laughing. A distant aunt spoke up. “Wait, isn’t today Gemma’s twentieth birthday too? One cake might not be enough for three of them.” Hearing this, Dad immediately stepped up and sliced the cake cleanly down the middle, dividing it into two giant portions. He gave me an apologetic, strained smile. “Splitting a cake into three equal parts is too complicated, Gemma. We will get you your own next time.” I had heard some variation of that excuse my entire life. I should have realized long ago that my parents’ love was a finite resource, strictly reserved for two. There was never going to be a share left over for me. Mom, still worried that I might throw a tantrum and ruin the atmosphere, pulled me aside and told me to help the staff with the dirty dishes and serving. For the rest of the evening, I ran around the room like an unpaid waitress, clearing glasses and wiping tables. During a brief moment of rest, I overheard Mom chatting with my Aunt Sarah near the buffet. “You know, you two really hit the jackpot with the twins,” Aunt Sarah said, sipping her wine. “They are gorgeous and full of life. But Gemma is such a sweet, quiet girl too. It isn’t right to always leave her out.” Despite telling myself I didn’t care, my body tensed. I held my breath, waiting for Mom’s response. A long pause followed before Mom sighed. “You don’t understand, Sarah. Of course she is my daughter, but the twins brought so much joy into our lives. Gemma is just different. She is always so gloomy, never smiling. It is hard to feel close to her.” My hand trembled, and the heavy metal pitcher of boiling water slipped from my grip. Searing hot water splashed across the back of my hand, but the burning pain on my skin was nothing compared to the sudden, suffocating ache in my chest. Before I could make a sound, a pair of warm, frail hands gently took mine. It was Nana. She smiled softly, slipping a delicate silver bracelet onto my wrist. “Gemma, happy twentieth birthday, my sweet girl. I didn’t forget. This is old and not worth much, but I have worn it for twenty years. I want you to have it.” The silver was slightly tarnished, worth perhaps fifty dollars at best, but I knew it was the most precious thing Nana owned. The dam inside me broke, and tears flooded my eyes. I tried to say thank you, but only a choked sob came out. Looking around, I saw several relatives staring, and I felt Mom’s sharp, disapproving gaze land on me. I couldn’t even cry in peace. I hugged Nana tightly, then hurried to the restroom to wash my face and compose myself. It took me a long time to stop shaking. When I finally walked back into the banquet hall, I reached into my purse to check on the bracelet. It was gone. Panic seized me. I rushed back to our table, my eyes frantically searching the floor. Then, my gaze drifted toward the stage, and my heart stopped. There was a familiar glint of silver resting against Katherine’s wrist.
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