After the family photo session, my younger sister, Lynn, sat hunched over the computer screen, scrolling through the raw shots one by one. Too much squinting—delete. Smile isn’t sweet enough—delete. Showing too much teeth—delete. Out of forty proofs, she finally picked a single shot. She pointed at the monitor with a triumphant nod. “This is the one,” Lynn declared. “Dad looks warm, Mom looks graceful, Jordan looks so handsome, and I look gorgeous.” Our parents leaned in, nodding in eager agreement. My older brother, Jordan, chuckled beside them. “Definitely. That’s the best one by far.” “Our Lynn always has great taste,” Mom praised, beaming. The photographer hesitated, hovering his mouse over the image. “Are you sure you want to go with this one?” Curious, I stepped closer to look over their shoulders. It was only then that I realized what had happened. In the photo, the bright pink balloon Lynn was holding happened to completely block my face. All that was left of me was a tiny sliver of a shoulder tucked into the far right corner of the frame. I stared at the screen, a quiet lump forming in my throat. “Can we pick a different one?” I asked softly. “You can’t even see me in this.” Lynn blinked up at me, innocent as a doll. “So what if you can’t see your face? It’s not like people don’t know you were standing there.” She turned back to the photographer and pointed at the pink orb. “Actually, can you edit this balloon to be a little bigger? It’ll make my face look smaller.” The photographer complied. With a few clicks of his mouse, the balloon expanded. My shoulder vanished completely. Mom patted my arm, her voice laced with mild annoyance. “Carlin, it’s a family photo. Does every single person really need to be visible? Don’t ruin the mood for everyone.” Dad was already pulling out his wallet, urging the photographer to print and frame the enlarged print right away. Later, that portrait was hung smack in the center of our new living room wall. Every guest who came over gushed about what a picture-perfect family of four they were. Not a single person noticed that behind the giant pink balloon stood a fifth member. There was no room for me in that family portrait. But then again, when had there ever been room for me in this house? … “Oh, Beth, this portrait turned out so beautifully!” Aunt Susan gushed the moment she stepped through the front door, her eyes fixed on the canvas in the entryway. “Lynn is stunning, Jordan looks so sharp, and you and David look like a power couple.” She stared at it for a long minute, entirely oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t in it. After showering the portrait with praise, Aunt Susan turned around with a bright smile and pulled two glossy gift bags from her tote bag, handing them to Lynn and Jordan. “For my favorite girl, some designer perfume. And for Jordan, those new sneakers you wanted. Take a look—hope you guys love them!” By the time she turned to me, her hands were empty. Instead, she reached out and casually patted my head, a well-practiced gesture. “Carlin, honey, I wanted to pick something up for you too, but the mall was completely out of stock. Next time, okay? I’ll definitely make it up to you next time.” I nodded, my expression carefully blank. It was always out of stock. It was always “next time”. When I was little, I used to tug on her sleeve and naively ask, “Aunt Susan, when is next time?” It wasn’t until I grew up that I finally understood the polite lies adults tell to keep the peace. A promised “next time” was just a gentler way of saying “never”. Mom soon called us over to the dining table for dinner. In the center sat a platter of steamed blue crabs. Six people at the table, but only five crabs on the plate. Mom picked up her tongs and served Aunt Susan first, then placed the two largest, meatiest crabs into Lynn’s and Jordan’s plates. The remaining two went to Dad and herself. Catching my eye as I looked over, Mom paused, as if suddenly remembering my existence. “Oh, you don’t like crab anyway, right?” I froze. When I was a little girl, crab had been my absolute favorite. But every time I cracked open a shell, Lynn would stare at it with wide, envious eyes. And every time, my parents would say, “She’s younger, Carlin. Let your sister have it.” After years of stepping back, everyone simply convinced themselves that I had never liked it to begin with. I forced a tight smile and quickly lowered my head to eat my rice, terrified that if I paused for even a second, someone would catch the tears brimming in my eyes. Halfway through dinner, the doorbell rang. Jordan walked back in carrying a gorgeous three-tiered bakery box, and Lynn squealed, clapping her hands together. “Is that to celebrate me taking first place in the regional dance showcase?” she squeaked. Dad lovingly pinched her cheek. “Of course, sweetheart. Our Lynn worked so hard, we have to celebrate properly.” The candles were lit, casting a warm, golden glow across everyone’s faces. Aunt Susan placed a sparkly birthday crown on Lynn’s head, Dad pulled out his phone to record a video, and Jordan urged her to hurry up and make a wish. It wasn’t even her birthday, yet the fuss they made was grander than any birthday I had ever seen. After making her wish, Lynn began slicing the cake. When my plate was handed to me, it contained a thin, dry sliver of crust from the very edge. I took a tiny bite and said softly, “This bakery is really good. Maybe we can get a cake from here tomorrow too.” The table fell dead silent. Jordan furrowed his brows, glaring across the table at me. “We’re eating cake today, why would we get another one tomorrow? It’s just cake, don’t you get sick of it?” Mom gave me a look of deep disapproval. “We bought this because your sister won an award and everyone is happy. Carlin, why do you have to compete with her over literally everything?” My throat tightened. I bit my tongue and said nothing. Tomorrow was my birthday. Clearly, not a single soul at this table remembered. After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room around Lynn’s laptop to help her curate photos for her social media celebration post. I went into the kitchen alone to clear the table and wash the dishes. A chipped ceramic bowl caught the edge of my thumb, slicing through the skin. Blood immediately welled up, bright and red. I had just rinsed it under the cold tap when Lynn strolled into the kitchen, leaning casually against the doorframe while waving her phone in my face. “Hey, Carlin, I found this dress online, but I’m short about four hundred bucks,” she said smoothly. “Didn’t you just get your academic scholarship check deposited? Transfer it to me.” I turned off the faucet, clutching a paper towel around my thumb. “I need that money for my dorm housing deposit next semester.” Lynn pouted, her lower lip sticking out. “You can just ask Mom and Dad for dorm money. The dress goes off sale in two days!” Over in the living room, Mom heard the commotion and raised her voice in reprimand. “Carlin, Lynn rarely asks you for anything. How can you be so stingy as an older sister?” Jordan added his impatient voice to the chorus. “Just send her the money already. Don’t ruin everyone’s night over a few hundred dollars.” Lynn held up her phone, her payment code already pulled up on the screen, her eyes filled with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t dare say no. I looked at the crimson blood soaking through the paper towel, then at the silent, united wall of judgment from my family. Without a word, I pulled out my phone and transferred the four hundred dollars. When I finally retreated to my bedroom—a space cramped with Lynn’s overflow clutter—a text notification buzzed on my screen. It was from Cassidy, a senior in my department. [Here’s the group photo from our last volunteer teaching trip to the rural schools. It was such an incredible, eye-opening experience. I really hope you’ll consider joining us this summer.] I opened the attached photo. Dozens of students and local kids stood gathered in front of a rustic schoolhouse. No one was blocked. No one was pushed out of the frame. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I slowly typed back: [Cassidy… does everyone who goes actually end up in the group photo?] Her reply came back almost instantly: [Of course! Every single person matters. We wouldn’t leave anyone out.] I looked back at the hallway, toward the living room where that massive family portrait hung with a giant pink balloon obliterating my existence. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I opened the application link and checked the confirmation box. [Cassidy, count me in. I’m going.] The day after I confirmed my spot on the volunteer trip happened to be my birthday. Unsurprisingly, no one in the house uttered a word about it. That afternoon, Jordan’s university called requesting some archived family documentation for his study-abroad file. Mom pulled a folding chair into the home office to reach the top shelf of the tall closet. I watched as she pulled out color-coded pink folders containing Lynn’s vaccination records, growth charts, and even a tiny velvet box holding her baby teeth. Next to Jordan’s birth certificate was a plastic baggie holding the soft hair from his very first haircut. Standing behind her, I couldn’t stop the question from slipping out. “Mom… where are my baby records?” “You lived out in the countryside with your grandmother until you were six,” Mom said without turning around, her tone matter-of-fact. “How could we possibly have kept track of those things?” She stepped down from the chair, her eyebrows pulled into an annoyed scowl. “Besides, we’re pulling files for your brother’s university today. Why are you hovering?” Just as the words left her mouth, a yellowed piece of paper slipped from a crease in the back of the cabinet and fluttered to the floor. Mom bent down to pick it up. As her eyes scanned the birth date printed on the hospital record, she froze for a fraction of a second. “Oh,” she said, her voice entirely flat. “Today’s your birthday.” She brushed a piece of lint off her pants, entirely unbothered. “I’ve been so swamped lately it completely slipped my mind. I’ll make it up to you tonight.” I didn’t ask her why she had never once forgotten Lynn’s or Jordan’s birthdays in her entire life. Just that casual promise—”I’ll make it up to you”—was enough to light a desperate, pathetic flare of hope in my chest. But at five o’clock that evening, Mom and Dad took a frantic phone call and rushed out the door without a word. I sat alone in the quiet, darkening living room, watching the sun dip below the horizon, waiting into the dead of night. Midnight came and went. The front door remained shut. It wasn’t until one in the morning that the key finally turned in the lock. Mom walked in, looking exhausted. When she saw me still sitting on the couch, she blinked in surprise. “Why are you still awake?” Before I could answer, she offered a hasty explanation. “Lynn twisted her ankle during her late dance rehearsal. Your dad and I had to rush her to the ER to get X-rays. Look, today’s already over anyway. Once things settle down around the house, we’ll throw you a proper late birthday, okay?” It had been six years since Grandma passed away and I was brought back to this house. And in those six years, I hadn’t had a single birthday. A wave of bitter injustice crashed over me, and I couldn’t stop the quiet whisper from escaping my lips. “But… you promised you’d make it up to me today.” Jordan stepped through the door behind her, his face instantly hardening. “Carlin, how can you be so damn selfish? Lynn literally twisted her ankle and all you care about is your stupid birthday!” I looked past his shoulder. Lynn had just slipped off Dad’s back. She was currently standing on the foyer rug, balancing effortlessly on both feet without so much as a wince. The words of defense choked in my throat. I swallowed them down, lowered my head, and quickly walked back to my room. Sometime later, a light knock sounded on my door. Dad stepped in, shutting it quietly behind him. He sat down at the edge of my bed and slipped two hundred-dollar bills into my hand. “Take this, go buy yourself something you like,” he murmured gently. “Don’t hold a grudge against your sister. She’s young, and she got hurt today. Naturally, your mother and I had to focus on her a bit more.” When I didn’t respond, Dad let out a long sigh, patted my knee, and stood up to leave. The door clicked shut. Tears finally leaked from the corners of my eyes, tracing hot paths down my temples and soaking into the hair around my ears. Mom had lost her corporate job when she was pregnant with me, and she had resented my existence ever since. The moment I turned a month old, she shipped me off to the countryside to be raised by my grandmother. Lynn felt that my eventual return threatened her status as the undisputed princess of the household, so she hated me. And in Jordan’s eyes, Lynn was his only real sister. In this entire house, Dad was the only one who occasionally threw me a scrap of kindness. But it was only ever this: quietly slipping me a couple of hundred-dollar bills “after” everyone else had trampled over me. Every single time I was wronged, he stood on the sidelines. He never stopped them, and he never took my side. Because compared to the precious peace of the family, my feelings were entirely negligible. This breadcrumb of affection was never enough to make me feel truly loved—yet just enough to keep me from giving up entirely. I pulled up my phone. Cassidy had sent over the final itinerary: our volunteer team was scheduled to depart for the mountain region in five days. I stared at the screen, my hands trembling slightly. Then, I pushed off the bed and walked toward the door. I didn’t want Dad’s half-baked, cowardly love anymore. And I was done using these pathetic scraps of affection to trick myself into staying in this house. I walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom, intending to give the money back. But as I reached the door, Mom’s hushed voice carried through the crack. “Did you give her the money?” “Yeah,” Dad’s voice was low. Mom immediately pressed, “Lynn didn’t see you, right? Last time she found out you gave Carlin cash, she threw a massive fit for two days straight until we bought her that designer handbag!” “She didn’t see.” Mom let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Lynn just doesn’t understand our intentions. We’re only acting nice to Carlin right now for “her” sake! When we get old, someone is going to have to take care of Lynn. Carlin is her older sister. If we don’t keep her leash tight now, who’s going to look after Lynn when we’re gone?” I stood frozen in the hallway, as if doused in a bucket of ice water. A cold, suffocating numbness spread through my limbs. So even Dad’s shallow scraps of affection weren’t born out of love for me. It was just a game of good cop, bad cop. A calculated strategy to make me feel grateful, to keep me weighed down by guilt—so that I would willingly remain in this house as a lifelong servant to their favored daughter. I don’t even remember how I dragged myself back to my room. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I pulled out my suitcase and packed away every single thing I owned. The next morning, Mom pushed my door open without knocking, holding an official university form in her hand. “Carlin, I need you to file for a gap year at school.” She said it casually, handing me the paper. “Lynn’s college entrance auditions for the performing arts academy are coming up, and she needs someone full-time to handle her meals and schedule. Your dad and I have to work, and Jordan is starting his internship. You’re the only one available to accompany her.” Her tone was so offhand, as if pausing my college education wasn’t a life-altering decision. I looked up at her, my voice cold. “I’m not taking a gap year. Lynn is your daughter. I have no obligation to serve her.” Mom’s face instantly darkened. “Your sister is at a critical turning point in her life! As her older sister, can’t you just make a small sacrifice to help her out?” Dad hurried into the room behind her, letting out his signature sigh. “Beth, go outside for a second. Let me talk to Carlin.” Once Mom left, Dad sat at the edge of my bed. “Carlin, Dad knows you feel wronged. But you know how much I care about you. Just do it for Dad—endure it one last time, okay?” Last night, when I stood outside their bedroom door, he hadn’t said a word to defend me. Yet a tiny, pathetic part of me had held onto a thread of delusion—hoping that maybe he was just weak, that deep down, he still cared. Now, that final delusion shattered into dust. I reached under my pillow, pulled out the two hundred-dollar bills, and slapped them firmly into his palm. “You gave me this money just so I’d act as Lynn’s live-in maid?” I asked softly. “Then I don’t want it.” Dad’s face froze, his expression twisting into an irritated scowl. “Why are you being so completely unreasonable?!” Luckily, Lynn’s loud, spoiled voice echoed from the hallway, saving me from further lecture. “I don’t even want her coming with me!” Lynn threw a tantrum, stomping her feet. “She’s clumsy and depressing! Looking at her makes me sick!” She grabbed Mom’s arm, whining, “Mom, you come with me instead! You take time off!” The anger on Mom’s face melted instantly into pure, overflowing tenderness. This was the woman who had resented me for eighteen years because my birth cost her a corporate position. Yet now, with just a few whines from Lynn, she pulled out her phone and dialed her boss right in front of me. “Director Palmer? Hi, yes… I’d like to submit my resignation, effective immediately.” I stood in the doorway, unable to tell whether I felt envy or disgust. We were both her biological daughters. Yet Lynn only had to pout, and Mom would throw away her job without a second thought. While my very existence had been labeled a burden from the day I was born. I turned to go back into my room, but Jordan blocked the doorway. “Carlin,” he said, leaning against the frame, his tone oozing entitlement. “Since you refuse to go with her, you need to contribute financially. Lynn’s intensive dance prep camp costs seven thousand dollars. I put in seven hundred. You need to chip in three hundred.” I squeezed my fists tightly. “I don’t have money.” Jordan let out a harsh scoff. “What about your scholarship money? You gave Lynn four hundred the other day, so you should still have about five hundred left, right? Keep a hundred and fifty for food, and give the rest to your sister.” To Jordan, seven hundred dollars was just skipping a pair of limited-edition sneakers. But that remaining five hundred was my entire living allowance and book budget for the upcoming semester. I shook my head. “No.” Jordan’s expression turned nasty. He pushed past me, grabbed my backpack off the desk, and aggressively unzipped it. “Where’s your debit card?” “Give that back!” I lunged forward to grab it. During the struggle, the backpack zipper burst open with a sharp snap. My ID, student card, and my printed volunteer teaching confirmation form spilled out, scattering across the hardwood floor. My heart shot into my throat. I dropped to my knees, frantically gathering the papers. Thankfully, Jordan’s eyes were only searching for plastic. He snatched my bank card off the floor, completely ignoring the official university document lying right beside his shoe. I was leaving in four days anyway. They wouldn’t notice a thing. In the end, he forced the transfer through my online banking app, taking the three hundred dollars. Late that night, a text from Cassidy popped up on my screen: [Hey Carlin! Great news—the university board approved a special grant for our volunteer team. Next semester’s dorm housing fees are completely waived, and all our round-trip train tickets are being fully reimbursed!] The tight, suffocating knot in my chest finally loosened, allowing me to take a real breath. The next afternoon, Mom unexpectedly called out to me. “Carlin, come with us to the mall. Lynn needs supplies for her intensive camp, so come along and see if there’s anything you need.” I stood frozen in the hallway. It was the very first time in my life she had voluntarily asked me what I needed. Even knowing it was just an afterthought, a faint ache bloomed in my chest. At the shopping center, Jordan pushed a massive shopping cart while Mom and Dad hovered on either side, credit cards ready. Lynn complained that the dorm mattresses were too firm, so Dad immediately purchased a high-end latex topper. Lynn mentioned her knees hurt after practice, so Mom picked out imported knee braces, an electric massager, a silk sleep mask, an aroma diffuser, a smart kettle, and a set of luxury travel toiletries. The cart overflowed. I looked down at my phone, checking the simple packing list provided by the volunteer organization: “A sun hat, insect repellent, a pack of Band-Aids, a sturdy water bottle.” Nothing expensive. I hesitated for a long time before finally picking up a cheap tube of clearance sunscreen, a box of discounted Band-Aids, and a pair of thick cotton socks. The total came to less than fifteen dollars. When we got home, Mom dumped the heavy shopping bags onto the living room floor. “Carlin, sort through your sister’s stuff and pack it into her suitcase.” I knelt on the floor, pulling the items out one by one. Lynn’s sleep mask, Lynn’s knee pads, Lynn’s toiletries, Lynn’s plush slippers… Everything belonged to Lynn. When I reached the bottom, the bags were completely empty. My sunscreen, Band-Aids, and socks were nowhere to be found. I sat back on my heels. “Where are my things?” Lynn was busy unboxing her new diffuser on the couch. She didn’t even bother looking up. “Oh, those? I saw some cheap garbage in the bag at checkout and thought some stranger dropped them in by mistake, so I tossed them in the trash.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Honestly, those cheap items looked like something an old lady bought at a flea market.” The living room fell dead silent. My fingers curled into tight fists, my voice raspy. “Those were mine.” Lynn laughed carelessly. “Sis, you actually wanted those? They looked so cheap and low-class.” What Lynn didn’t know was that those “cheap” items were the only things I had built up the courage to put in that cart after standing there for half an hour. Mom, as always, immediately chimed in to defend Lynn. “Carlin, why do you have to be so petty? It was fifteen dollars worth of junk! If it’s lost, it’s lost. Can’t you just buy it again later? Lynn didn’t do it on purpose—do you really have to ruin her mood right before her big training camp?” I didn’t bother explaining. In this house, there was no “later” for me anyway. Over the next two days, the house was a whirlwind of chaotic preparation. Mom was busy completing her resignation paperwork and researching meal prep for Lynn’s training. Dad was frantically calling real estate agents to lease an apartment near the prep center—worried that cheaper places were too far, and closer places were too expensive. Jordan took Lynn out to escape rooms and amusement parks to help her “de-stress.” No one asked me what I was doing. And no one noticed that my bedroom was growing emptier with each passing hour. On the third night, everything was finally arranged. Dad booked a reservation at an upscale restaurant downtown to throw Lynn a send-off dinner. I had just rolled my heavy suitcase to the front door when Mom’s call came through. “Carlin, don’t bother coming tonight,” her voice echoed through the speaker. “Director Hoffman from the state performing arts board is joining us. We worked so hard to secure this dinner with him. He’s always believed Lynn is an only child, so bringing you along would just make introductions awkward.” Tonight was the night my volunteer team was set to board the train. I had never intended to go to their dinner in the first place. Yet hearing those words aloud still sent a sharp, familiar sting through my ribs. By the time I pulled my luggage through the crowded concourse of the train station, my phone buzzed with another text from Mom: [On second thought, get over here right now. Director Hoffman used to be married to your high school principal. He said he remembers you well and asked about you. Stop throwing a tantrum and get an Uber immediately.] I looked down at the glowing screen and let out a bitter, silent laugh. They only ever remembered I existed when I was useful to Lynn. Over the intercom, the boarding call for my train sounded. I didn’t bother replying. I turned off my phone, gripped the handle of my suitcase, and walked toward the gate. Behind me lay a house full of cold indifference. Ahead of me lay thousands of miles of open sky. From this moment on, I would only walk forward. I was never turning back.
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