Ever since I was a little girl, I could see the threads of connection stretching between people. When I first walked into my elementary school classroom, the thread binding me to my desk mate was a vibrant, brilliant red. By graduation day, it had faded to a lifeless, dusty gray, snapping silently into nothingness. I wasn’t sad. I knew that the three threads anchoring me to my father, mother, and my older brother, Chris, were always fiercely hot, thick, and crimson. They were my armor, the sole reason I felt safe enough to be reckless, to throw tantrums, and to demand the world. Until I was eighteen. That was the year they brought home a timid, fragile-looking girl and told me she was their biological daughter. My mother held me close, crying, while my father and Chris swore with bloodshot eyes: “Even though she’s back, our love for you will never change.” I believed them. But when I looked up, the thick red lines connecting us had already washed out into a faint, pale pink. At first, it was just pink. Until the day she came home covered in bruises, weeping as she told them I had orchestrated a campaign of bullying against her at school. Panic-stricken, I tried to explain, begging them to believe me. They listened, and just like they always did, they patted my head and smiled softly. “Don’t cry, Simona. Of course we believe you.” They said the words. But in the very next second, those three pink threads looked as though the last drop of life had been violently drained from them. Right before my eyes, they turned completely, utterly gray. That was the moment I realized my armor was gone. … Staring at those dead gray lines, a cold dread pooled in my stomach. I asked in a quiet voice, “Do you… do you really believe me?” No one answered. They were too busy cleaning Delilah’s cuts and scrapes. Their hands were tender, their faces etched with a deep, consuming worry. My chest tightened. I clenched my fists and asked again, louder this time. This time, Chris looked up. His voice carried a heavy, exhausted sigh. “We already said we believe you, Simona. Can you please stop making a scene?” In his eyes, there was a flash of irritation—a cold, dismissive look I had never seen before. I stood frozen, feeling incredibly small and lost. As I watched, the gray of our threads grew even paler, almost translucent. Terrified of pushing them further, I shut my mouth. I picked up a bottle of antiseptic from the table, desperate to be useful, and stepped forward to help. But my foot caught on something—or someone—and I tripped. The bottle slipped from my fingers, splashing the dark brown liquid directly across Delilah’s face. She screamed, shrinking back into my mother’s arms with her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m sorry, Simona! I shouldn’t have said anything! Please, please don’t hurt me anymore!” “Mom, Dad… maybe you should just send me back. I know it was awful there, but at least I wouldn’t be ruining your lives.” My mother’s eyes welled with tears instantly. She, who was usually a compulsive clean-freak, didn’t even care that the dark liquid was staining her expensive silk sleeves as she wiped Delilah’s face. “Don’t say such things, sweetheart. We would never send you back to those monsters!” “Simona didn’t mean to, I promise you. She isn’t a cruel girl.” But as she spoke those protective words, the gray thread connecting her to me thinned by a measurable inch. She was defending my character to Delilah, but in her heart, she had already branded me a monster. My father placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, nudging me forward. “What are you waiting for? Apologize to your sister. Your mother is standing up for you; the least you can do is show some remorse.” I grabbed his sleeve, desperate for a lifeline. “Dad, please believe me. Someone tripped me. I didn’t do it on purpose.” “No one is saying you did it on purpose, but you still spilled it on her. You need to apologize.” He looked down at me. His voice was patient, but his eyes were entirely devoid of warmth. Years of being the beloved, proud daughter of the Harrison family made me stubborn. I pointed at Delilah, my voice trembling. “Maybe she tripped me! She did it on purpose to frame me! Dad, just trust me this once! You always taught me never to lie. You said liars have to face the consequences!” Dad pursed his lips, staring at me. I looked up at him with all the sincerity I could muster, praying he would take my side. But in the next second, the thread between us thinned to a whisper. And then came his cold, quiet verdict: “Then you will take your punishment.” “Those who lie must kneel in the foyer. I believe in fairness, Simona. I won’t play favorites.” Kneeling on the hard wooden floor of the grand entryway was the harshest punishment in our household. In my memory, it had only happened once before. When we were kids, Chris had failed to watch over me, and I had scraped my knee on the driveway. For that tiny scratch, our parents had made him kneel outside for a whole day. Back then, they punished him out of love for me. Now, they were punishing me out of love for Delilah. I felt as though I had been plunged into an ice bath. With a pale face, I walked toward the foyer. Every step I took, I prayed someone would call my name. But the house remained silent. I stepped out and sank onto my knees against the cold wood. Even then, the gray threads connecting me to them didn’t flicker. The outcome had been decided long ago. No matter what I did, they would always choose Delilah. I don’t know how many hours passed. I was dizzy with hunger. Years ago, when Chris was punished, I had slipped him snacks and water because my heart ached for him. Now, the grand house behind me was brightly lit. The smell of dinner, the sound of their laughter, and the warmth of their voices drifted through the door, weaving into a whip that lashed at my soul. It was a cruel reminder: there was no one left in this world to ache for me. My head hung low, my thoughts drifting into a hazy numbness. Suddenly, the soft scuff of footsteps broke the quiet. My heart skipped a beat. I looked up, desperate for a shred of hope. But when the figure came into focus, my chest went cold. It was Delilah. She was holding a piece of bread, her face a mask of deep concern. “Simona, are you hungry? I snuck this out for you.” I stared at her, unable to discern the truth in her eyes. But the manners I had been raised with dictated that I shouldn’t refuse an act of kindness. I reached out to take the bread, trying to make peace. “Thank you. But going forward… can we just stay out of each other’s way? I don’t want this house to be a war zone.” Delilah smiled. It wasn’t a peaceful smile. There was no thread connecting us, nothing to bind us. Before I could process the sudden dread in my stomach, she shook her head. Her voice was light, cheerful, and utterly chilling. “I don’t think so.” She threw the bread onto the floor and threw herself backward with a sharp, piercing shriek. I watched her in stunned silence, realizing how laughably naive I had been. Delilah didn’t want peace. She wanted to be the executioner who severed my family’s red lines once and for all. Hearing the noise, the living room door burst open. Chris was the first one out, rushing to her side. “Delilah! What happened? Are you okay?” Her eyes and nose were red, tears streaming down her face in a perfect display of victimhood. “Chris… I knew she hadn’t eaten all day. I just wanted to bring her something. But she… she’s still so angry at me. She threw it away and pushed me…” Chris glared up at me, a hot anger flaring in his eyes. “Where did you learn to be so cruel, Simona? She went out of her way to care for you, and this is how you repay her?” I looked past him to my parents. The profound disappointment in their eyes felt like a physical blade. I wanted to ask what kindness she had actually shown me. I wanted to ask why they were so quick to believe her when I had done absolutely nothing. But my vision began to swim. Before I could speak a single word, the darkness claimed me, and I collapsed. In the haze of slipping away, I heard their muffled voices. “She thinks she can get out of this by faking a faint. She’s eighteen years old—she needs to start taking accountability.” “Just leave her there. Let’s see how long she can keep up the act.” Then came the heavy thud of the door closing, followed by silence. When I woke up, the morning sun was burning directly into my eyes, forcing tears down my cheeks. My muscles were stiff as stone. I turned my head and realized I was still lying on the cold floor of the entryway. The voices hadn’t been a dream. They had truly left me out here all night. I tried to push myself up, but my limbs failed me, and I collapsed back onto the floor. The scabbed wound on my knee tore open, hot blood staining the wood. I dragged myself further into the house, crying out from the sheer pain and humiliation. “Mom, Dad… it hurts…” In the past, the slightest scratch on my finger would have sent the entire household into a panic. But now, when I looked up, I only saw the cold, indifferent face of our housekeeper. “Where are my parents?” I whispered. “It’s Saturday,” she replied flatly. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrison took Miss Delilah out for Family Day.” A dull ache throbbed in my chest. Had they forgotten that Saturday Family Day had been my idea? Back when my parents were buried in work and Chris was always away at school, I had thrown a fit, demanding we set aside Saturdays to stay connected. They had indulged me. Mom had pinched my nose, laughing. “You just want an excuse to go out, you little devil. We don’t need a designated day to love you—we’ll love you forever.” I had believed her then, because our threads were thick, vibrant, and unbroken. Now, there was nothing left to support those empty words. I sniffled and reached a hand out to the housekeeper. “Can you help me up, please? I’m bleeding.” She stepped back, her voice chillingly professional. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrison left strict instructions. We are not to assist you. They said if we keep catering to your tantrums, you’ll never learn respect.” I stared at the trail of blood on the polished foyer floor. “Even if I’m bleeding?” “Under any circumstances.” It felt as though a piece of my heart had been carved out. But I bit my lip, dragged myself onto the sofa, and closed my eyes, hoping that if I just rested for a bit, my legs would work again. I drifted back into a heavy, feverish sleep. I was startled awake by a sharp, burning pain. When I opened my eyes, my mother’s face swam into focus. She was applying antiseptic to my knees. Tears spilled over before I could stop them. “Mom… you didn’t leave me, did you?” Her face remained flat, expressionless. She finished bandaging the wound and let out a long, heavy sigh. “Let this be the last time you pull a stunt like this, Simona. If you do it again, you’ll have to deal with the consequences yourself.” I looked up. The thread connecting us was now so thin it was practically invisible. Fear gripped me, drying my tears instantly. “Mom, I wasn’t acting! I actually passed out—” “Save the excuses,” she said, standing up and turning away. A few yards away in the living room, Delilah was wearing a beautiful, trendy designer dress, shyly asking my father and Chris, “Does it look okay?” Their expressions were soft, brimming with tenderness. “My girl looks beautiful in anything,” Dad said. Chris echoed, “Everything looks good on you, sis.” Mom pulled a classic blue Tiffany box from her shopping bag and clasped a delicate diamond necklace around Delilah’s neck. “They’re right. But this makes it perfect.” My throat tightened. Not long ago, Delilah had snuck into my closet and tried on one of my dresses. When I caught her, before I could even speak, she had panicked, stripping it off and begging, “Please don’t be mad, Simona. I’ve never had anything this pretty. I just wanted to see…” My parents had stepped in immediately, telling her in front of me, “You look much better in it than Simona anyway. Keep it. Simona has plenty of clothes.” I used to think those loving praises belonged to me. Now I understood they belonged to the title of “daughter” and “sister.” And I didn’t hold those titles anymore. I looked down at the white gauze on my knee. A small circle of red was blooming through the cotton—a tiny, unnoticed period marking the end of my childhood. After two days of resting, I could finally walk. The very first thing I did was arrange to meet Delilah’s adoptive parents—my biological parents, Thomas and Melissa Cooper. The moment we met, I saw the thick, brilliant red threads stretching between us. They were simple, hard-working, honest people—the exact opposite of the abusive monsters Delilah had described. My heart settled. I explained why I had come. When I returned to the Harrison house, I stopped acting like the spoiled heiress. It wasn’t a tantrum; I had simply stopped fighting. I knew I couldn’t win. I kept to my room, only coming down for meals. I sat quietly in the corner, ate in silence, and went straight back upstairs. My sudden silence caught them off guard, and their attitude softened slightly. They would put food on my plate, though always after serving Delilah. They tried to make small talk, but our conversations never lasted more than a few sentences. With Delilah, they had an endless stream of laughter and stories. I listened to it all like background noise, cleared my plate, said, “Thank you for dinner, I’m going to my room,” and left. I stopped waiting for them to ask me to stay. I stopped hoping for their warmth. Over time, the heavy ache in my chest began to fade, like a wound forming a solid, painless scar. One afternoon, Mom called me over to show me the design layouts for my upcoming Columbia University Acceptance Gala. Delilah leaned over, her eyes wide with envy. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never had a party like this.” Chris sipped his coffee and casually suggested, “Why don’t we combine Delilah’s welcome-home party with Simona’s acceptance gala?” A spike of resentment hit me. “Why? This is supposed to be my celebration.” I had worked myself to the bone, studying late into the night and winning national academic competitions just to earn early admission to Columbia. When the acceptance letter came, my parents had wept with pride, eager to show the world what their daughter had accomplished. Chris frowned. “You’re sisters, Simona. Share the spotlight.” Delilah toyed with the hem of her shirt, looking downcast. “Maybe because my grades aren’t good… Simona doesn’t think I deserve to be there.” Mom immediately wrapped an arm around her, kissing her temple. “Of course you deserve it, sweetie. You’re my daughter. We’ll host it together. Come look at the designs with us.” The protests died in my throat. What was the point of arguing? I was no longer their pride. The daughter they wanted to parade before high society was Delilah, the long-lost child. Not me. “Let her have the designs,” I said quietly, standing up. “I’m going to lie down.” “Oh, don’t go, Simona,” Delilah said, with a delicate pout. “If you’re going to be angry, I don’t want to steal your thunder.” “Don’t worry about her,” Chris muttered. “Once she sees the custom gown we ordered for her, she’ll get over it.” I walked to my bedroom, shut the door, and slid down against the wood until I was sitting on the floor. I didn’t cry. I just felt empty, as if the last lingering hope had been quietly packed up and moved out. This gala wasn’t a celebration. It was going to be my farewell. The day of the gala arrived. Delilah and I were in the hotel dressing room. Halfway through getting ready, Delilah’s custom gown tore along the seam. Without hesitation, Mom turned to me. “Give your dress to your sister, Simona. This is her first major event. She needs to look perfect.” It was the gown I had waited months for. I had spent hours collaborating with the designer, refining every bead and lace detail. But I didn’t argue. I unzipped the dress, folded it neatly, and handed it over. Mom blinked, clearly startled by my compliance. As she took the silk fabric, a rare wave of warmth washed over her face. “You’re finally growing up, Simona. You’re behaving like a real adult.” At those words, the gray threads connecting us suddenly flushed with a faint pink hue, thickening slightly. I stood there, a profound sadness settling deep in my bones. What a cruel joke of fate. The connection I had fought so hard to save was finally showing a spark of life—now that I had decided to let it die. But I didn’t want it anymore. Delilah went out first, wearing my dress, stepping into the ballroom as the undisputed star of the evening. I took my time. I waited nearly an hour before I finally walked down the grand corridor toward the double doors. The moment I stepped inside, my mother marched over and slapped me across the face. The crack echoed in the foyer. “Simona Harrison! I thought you had finally matured, but you were just plotting to ruin your sister’s night!” “Tell me! Did you deliberately tear both of those dresses just to humiliate her?” My cheek burned, my head spinning as I looked past her. Delilah was huddled in Chris’s embrace, wrapped in his suit jacket, weeping softly. The surrounding guests watched us, murmuring behind their hands. “I heard Simona was incredibly spoiled, but this is shocking.” “She’s only eighteen and already this manipulative? The Harrisons raised a viper.” Dad’s face was dark. He stepped forward, his voice a low, threatening hiss. “If you want to remain a Harrison, you will apologize to Delilah right now. Do it sincerely, and we can still salvage your reputation in this circle.” I let out a dry, cold laugh. “Don’t worry. Starting tonight, I’m no longer a Harrison.” Dad stared at me, his eyes freezing over. “If you walk away from this family, where do you think you’re going to go?” Right then, the heavy double doors opened, and two people walked in. They were wearing what were clearly their absolute best clothes, though their modest department-store attire looked terribly out of place among the designer silk and diamonds. But to me, they looked as if they were bathed in light. Delilah gasped, shrinking further into Chris’s chest. “Did Simona bring them here? It’s my fault! I’m sorry! I won’t take anything else from you, just please don’t let them take me back!” Chris glared at me, his face contorted with rage. “Simona! What did Delilah ever do to make you hate her this much? Do you want to destroy her?” I looked at him, my cheek still stinging from the slap, feeling nothing but a profound, hollow pity. Dad swept a dismissive glance over the couple. “You are not welcome here. Leave immediately before you frighten my daughter.” Thomas Cooper stood stiffly, rubbing his calloused hands against his trousers, but he raised his voice so it carried across the quiet room. “We came to take our daughter home.” Mom’s face twisted in disgust. “Are you deaf? Your daughter isn’t here! Security, get them out!” “Wait!” I called out, my voice cutting through the luxury of the room. “They are here for me.” The room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. For three long seconds, nobody breathed. And then, those fading, pale pink threads connecting me to the Harrisons suddenly flared with a brilliant, violent crimson.
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