When I was little, my mother told me that I was the reason my sister was deaf in her left ear. She said I had hit her during a toddler outburst, and to make up for my unforgivable sin, my parents gave Daisy ninety-nine “Favor Cards.” On my ninth birthday, when Daisy wanted mango cake, she produced a card. Mom immediately swapped out the cake I had picked for a mango one—a fruit I was severely allergic to. When Daisy was caught smoking in the high school bathroom, she pulled out another card. Mom forced me to take the fall. Word spread through the school that I was a delinquent, and for an entire year, not a single person spoke to me. From the time I was eight until I turned eighteen, Daisy used ninety-six cards. That meant ninety-six times I was cast aside, silenced, or made to suffer. I used to believe that if she just used up the remaining three, I would finally earn an equal share of my parents’ love. Until the day I was helping Mom clean out the storage closet and stumbled across a medical record from eighteen years ago. The yellowed paper read: [Daisy, two-month-old infant: Congenital bilateral sensorineural hearing loss.] A bone-chilling cold washed over me. Her deafness was never my fault. It was all a lie. But my parents’ absolute lack of love for me? That was entirely real. And just like that, I stopped waiting for them to love me. … I should have known long ago. She was named Daisy—bright, delicate, a flower to be cherished and protected. I was Rory—short for Remembrance, a bitter lingering leftover from a past they wished they could forget. Rubbing my tired eyes, I looked down at my phone. Notifications were scrolling rapidly in our family group chat. As I swiped up, my finger accidentally tapped a digital transfer my mother had just dropped into the chat. It was twenty dollars. Note attached: “For Daisy’s coffee.” My fingers froze. My first instinct was to return it, but the app didn’t allow instant refunds. The transaction record stayed pinned right there in the chat, exposed for everyone to see. A second later, Daisy’s voice memo popped up, laced with unvarnished venom: “Rory, how are you not embarrassed stealing my coffee money? Mom sent that specifically for me. You sure move fast when it’s free cash.” Mom Chimed in right away, her bias dripping from every word: “Rory, transfer that money back to Daisy immediately. Her ear has been bothering her all week and she just wants something sweet to feel better. Don’t fight her over petty change.” A quiet ripple of pain drifted through my chest, but it barely made a dent. I silently sent a twenty-dollar transfer back to Daisy. Just as I set my phone down, Daisy’s whiny voice echoed from the living room. She was tugging on Mom’s arm, swaying back and forth, begging for new clothes for graduation. It was an intimacy I had never been permitted. Perhaps my gaze lingered a second too long. Mom suddenly shot a sideways glance at me, her tone sharp: “Rory, why can’t you be more like your sister? If you want something, just speak up. Stop standing there looking like a martyr. It’s pathetic.” Speaking up was a privilege reserved for those who were loved. Not me. In the end, Mom dragged me along on their shopping trip anyway. All afternoon, Mom held dress after dress against Daisy, buying every single thing she pointed at. At the very last boutique, my eyes caught a simple white sundress. It was elegant and understated—a style I had secretly adored for months, and the tag showed my exact size. I gathered every ounce of my courage and spoke up: “Mom… can I try this on?” Before Mom could answer, Daisy grabbed the hem of the dress and refused to let go. She reached into her purse, pulled out a crisp, unused Favor Card, and shoved it into Mom’s hand. “Mom, I like this one too. I’m using a Favor Card. This dress is mine.” Mom looked momentarily conflicted. The sales clerk tried to step in, gently offering Daisy an alternative: “Sweetheart, this size might be a bit small for you. We have our newest arrivals over here—why don’t you take a look?” Daisy remained stubborn as ever. “So what if it doesn’t fit? I want it. Besides, she owes me.” Mom immediately stepped forward and forcibly pried my fingers off the hanger. When she turned to look at me, her face hardened instantly. “You’re older than her. What does it matter if you have one less dress? Daisy’s ears are bad—if she gets stressed, her tinnitus flares up. Just let her have it.” I stood anchored to the spot, my fingernails digging into my palms until my knuckles turned white. Growing up, whether it was clothes, stationery, or snacks… whenever Daisy pulled out a Favor Card, I was always the one forced to retreat. Ninety-six past grievances rushed into my mind at once. Swallowing down the bitterness in my throat, I asked her in a quiet, fragile voice: “Mom… if I were the one with broken ears, would you ever make Daisy yield to me?” Part of me still wondered: What if she only loved Daisy more because she pitied her disability? When Mom heard my question, her eyes flickered with a flash of guilt, but in the very next second, her voice exploded into an angry shriek: “Why do you always have to compete with your sister?! It’s just a dress! Is it worth picking a fight over every tiny thing? Daisy’s hearing was ruined because of you! Instead of showing some understanding, you’re constantly comparing yourself to her. Why are you so narrow-minded?” “Because of me?” A single, light sentence, effortlessly crushing the very last strain of hope I held. Her concept of debt only ever applied to Daisy. I was never part of her equation. Just then, Daisy stepped out of the fitting room wearing the ill-fitting white dress. She twirled triumphantly, deliberately bumping into my shoulder as she passed, whispering with nasty amusement: “Serves you right for breaking my ears back then. You owe me. You have to give me everything.” I lowered my eyes and quietly looked away, refusing to argue. On the ride home, I pulled out my small notebook and wrote in the ninety-seventh box: “Gave dress to Daisy.” Two blank boxes left. I stared out the window into the pitch-black night, my heart feeling like a barren wasteland. Once those last two cards were used, I would leave this small town that had trapped me for eighteen years, and I would never look back. I traced my fingers over the previous entries. Every single one felt like a blade scraping against my skin. Box ninety-six read: “She threw away my college entrance prep materials.” It immediately brought back the memory of how humid and freezing the rain had been that night. Three months before our final exams, I had gathered a whole year’s worth of study guides, my personal error logbooks, and rare practice exams into a canvas tote bag. I reviewed them every spare second I had. Daisy had taken advantage of the time I was in the shower to dump all my materials into the trash outside. By the time I noticed my books were gone, the sky had turned completely dark. Shaking with panic, I confronted Daisy. She didn’t feel a shred of guilt. Instead, she smirked, pulled card ninety-six out of her pocket, and handed it to Mom, who had rushed over at the noise. “Mom, I’m using a Favor Card. I just hate seeing her read all day anyway. She shouldn’t be yelling at me over some dumb trash.” Mom clutched the paper, instantly shielding Daisy behind her, and whirled around to berate me: “It’s just a few books! You can just reprint them! Why do you have to terrify Daisy like that? Her hearing is already fragile—you shouted at her until she got a headache. Can you take responsibility if something happens to her?” My eyes burned, and my voice trembled violently: “That was an entire year of my error logs! And those practice tests are out of print—you can’t buy them anywhere! Exams are in three months! How am I supposed to rebuild all of that from scratch?!” Dad sat on the couch scrolling through his phone, chiming in carelessly: “You’re smart, Rory. Missing a few study guides won’t affect your scores. Daisy was just being playful. Don’t hold a grudge over something so small.” “A Favor Card is on the table, so this matter is closed. Don’t bring it up again.” I ran downstairs into the bushes behind the building. The night was pitch-black, and torrential rain pounded down on me. Thorny branches sliced open bloody scratches on my legs, but I refused to stop searching. It was long past midnight when I finally found the materials—soaked into a soggy pulp by the rain, completely ruined. I knelt in the thorny bushes, picking up the torn, wet pages one by one. The freezing wind slapped my face, mixing with the tears streaming down my cheeks. But the cold outside was nothing compared to the ice in my chest. A neighbor passing by saw my drenched, battered state and kindly stepped in to help me search. Meanwhile, my parents stood under the dry, warm archway of our building, completely absorbed in comforting Daisy through her temper tantrum. They didn’t even bother coming down to check on me once. When I stumbled back inside, holding the ruined paper, I ignored my fever and my bleeding legs. I begged my parents one last time: Could they lend me a little money so I could re-purchase some study materials? Mom waved her hand impatiently: “The family’s money is being saved for Daisy’s college tuition. Figure out your own problems. Who told you to throw a fit at her in the first place?” In the end, I stayed up until three in the morning every single night, recreating all those study guides from memory. Bringing my mind back to the present, I rubbed the ink on that ninety-sixth entry, feeling a profound sense of irony. Back then, I worked so hard because I wanted to study medicine. I wanted to heal Daisy’s ears one day so I could finally wash away the heavy debt I thought I owed her. But as it turned out, I had never owed her anything. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my high school homeroom teacher calling: “Rory, the school awards a grant to top-performing graduates from low-income backgrounds every year. If you need it, come by tomorrow to fill out the application.” I quickly agreed. I knew that if I wanted to escape this house and attend university, I would need every penny I could get. However, the moment I hung up and opened my bedroom door, I found my sister standing outside, blatantly eavesdropping. There was no awkwardness at being caught. She simply ordered: “Rory, you’re giving that grant spot to me!” Right in front of my parents, Daisy threw a massive fit. She kicked the hardwood floor and burst into tears on demand. “I want the newest iPad! Everyone in my class has one for graduation except me! I can’t even play games properly!” As she spoke, she whipped out card ninety-eight from her pink wallet and slammed it heavily onto the wooden dining table. Her smug eyes swept over me like this was the most logical thing in the world. “Mom, I’m using this Favor Card to exchange for Rory’s grant spot. I’m taking that money to buy my iPad!” Mom habitually took the card, looked at me, and finally spoke: “Rory, tell your teacher that Daisy needs the money more. Bring out your application forms and transfer them over to Daisy.” Dad put down his phone, chiming in as if it were obvious: “What’s wrong with fulfilling one of Daisy’s wishes? Don’t forget her ears were damaged because of you. Stop being so obsessive over a little money.” I gripped the edge of the dining table so hard my knuckles turned white. The resentment built up over eighteen years could no longer be contained. “This is my merit grant! The school is offering it to me because I work part-time and maintain top grades! On what grounds are you giving it away to her with a single sentence?!” I raised my voice, openly defying them in public for the very first time. My parents looked at me in utter shock. Even Daisy froze in place. “Daisy wants for nothing! She gets endless clothes, jewelry, and allowance! Meanwhile, the money I earn working part-time every month barely covers my food, and you’ve never once asked if I was surviving! What right do you have to sacrifice me every single time to indulge her?!” Seeing me dare to talk back, Daisy cried even harder. She threw herself into Mom’s arms, clutching Mom’s sleeve tightly: “Rory just hates me! She’s doing this on purpose! She ruined my ears in the first place, and now she won’t even share a little benefit with me!” Those words were like a lit fuse, instantly detonating the rage in my mother’s chest. She bolted up from her chair, rushed over to me, and raised her hand, throwing a vicious slap straight across my cheek. “CRACK.” The sharp slap echoed brutally in the quiet living room. Half of my face went hot and numb, my ear ringing intensely. The force twisted my head to the side, my inner cheek catching against my teeth, leaving a faint metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “I raised you to eighteen years old just so you could talk back to your parents and steal from your sister?!” Mom’s chest heaved violently, her eyes filled with disgust and bitter disappointment. “Daisy’s ear was deafened by you when she was little! You have a healthy body—what’s wrong with yielding a little to her?!” I had yielded to her for eighteen years. Was that still not enough? I cupped my burning cheek, my eyes turning red against my will, yet I stubbornly refused to let a single tear drop. No matter how obedient I was, the moment I showed a shred of resistance to Daisy, all I ever got was condemnation. Yet they were the selfish, cowardly ones. The diagnostic report from eighteen years ago flashed through my mind again and again. My heart felt frozen solid. “Her ear wasn’t damaged by me,” I whispered, my voice trembling with suppressed emotion. I came so close to laying out the entire truth about that medical report, but I forced myself to swallow it down. Exposing it now was meaningless. It would only bring more escalating accusations. All I needed to do was finish my exams quietly and leave this place forever. Mom assumed I was just being defensive and bitter. She scoffed cold-heartedly, turning to Dad: “Go to the school tomorrow morning and tell the teacher to transfer Rory’s grant under Daisy’s name. I’ll get the paperwork.” That night, while I was washing up, Mom picked the lock on my desk drawer and stole all my application materials. The next day, my teacher called, her voice full of sorrow and helplessness. “Rory… your mother insisted that your sister’s health is poor and forced us to transfer the grant to her. I couldn’t stop her.” Hanging up the phone, I walked into the living room. Daisy was twirling the freshly used Favor Card between her fingers before carelessly crumpling it up and tossing it into the trash can. My parents were gathered around her, happily looking up iPad models on a phone, filled with laughter and joy. I was always extra here anyway. Why care anymore? I walked back to my room, picked up my pencil, and firmly crossed out box ninety-eight. Written inside: “Gave scholarship to sister.” Only one Favor Card left. Once it was used, my debt to this family for raising me would be completely cleared. When picking my university preferences, I would choose a school as far away as possible. Mountains and rivers would separate us, and we would never meet again. … On the day the college entrance exam scores were released, my parents gathered around Daisy in the living room to check her results online. I sat alone in my bedroom, using a slow, secondhand phone they had discarded, trying to load the score portal. The connection kept lagging, the screen spinning endlessly. From outside the door, I heard Mom’s tender praise: “Daisy, you did so well! You got a 418! Mom is so proud of you!” It wasn’t until noon that my results finally loaded on my screen: 714 out of 750. I squeezed the phone tightly, breathing a long sigh of relief. I finally had the capital to escape this place. That evening, Mom casually asked me what I scored. Before I could answer, Daisy spoke up: “She got first place in our entire school—a 714.” As she said this, her eyes suddenly turned red. “If my ears were normal, I wouldn’t be so stupid. I wouldn’t have scored so low. Mom… should I even have been born?” Mom shot me a look of pure disgust, then pulled Daisy into a comforting embrace: “We don’t care how high she scores. You will always be our pride.” A sharp pang went through my heart. The child who is loved is never criticized, no matter how poorly she performs. The child who is unloved is ignored, no matter how brilliant she is. Even if Daisy couldn’t even reach the cutoff line for a public university. Mom looked at the two score reports, then suddenly pulled my hand, making a demand with absolute entitlement: “Rory, it doesn’t matter how high your score is. Our family is under immense financial stress right now. Daisy wants to attend a private university, and tuition plus room and board will cost over thirty thousand a year—well over a hundred thousand for four years.” “You shouldn’t go to college. Go work in a factory instead, and send your entire monthly paycheck home so we can put Daisy through school.” I snapped my head up. My score was bought with countless sleepless nights of hard work—it was my entire future. In their eyes, it wasn’t even worth as much as an expensive private degree for Daisy. “That’s my life,” my voice shook violently. “I want to go to university too.” Dad chimed in from the side: “What’s the point of a girl getting so much education? Daisy has hearing problems, so it’ll be hard for her to find a job later—she needs a college degree to pave her way.” “You have a healthy body. It’s your duty to work early and help support the family.” “Besides, she used a Favor Card for this. Just consider it letting her have her way one last time.” Daisy leaned back on the sofa, speaking carelessly: “Rory, you’re so smart, you’ll have plenty of chances to study later. This is my only chance to get a college degree. Why can’t you just help me out?” The very last shred of warmth in my heart evaporated completely. On the surface, however, I remained entirely composed, pretending to surrender. “Fine. I’ll listen to you. I’ll go look for a job and won’t submit my college applications.” Seeing me give in, my parents beamed with joy. They immediately turned back to Daisy, excitedly planning her private college choices, never asking me another word. They never imagined that the daughter who had been obedient her whole life was lying to them. I found a summer job away from home and never returned to that house. On the final day to lock in university preferences, I secretly submitted my top choice—Columbia University, thousands of miles away—as my sole application. The day the official acceptance letter arrived, I packed a single small suitcase, quietly stepped onto a night train bound for the capital, and deleted every single contact number for my family before the train pulled out of the station. By the time my parents realized I had vanished, panic finally set in.
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