I had heard these words too many times to count. Each syllable cut deep, each sentence lashed at my heart. I thought I had grown numb to their cruelty. But standing there, I still felt the unbearable ache.
It should have been me. I was supposed to study abroad.
I still remember that moment—how my mother forced my aunt to take my bank card in front of me.
All the scholarships I had earned, the money from my part-time jobs, the savings I had set aside for my postgraduate studies—gone.
My mother tricked me into handing it over.
She had always loved Julia more. That much I had known since childhood. But watching her give away my future so effortlessly, with my father’s silent approval, made me wonder:
What was I to this family? A mere stepping stone? A burden?
To my mother, I was nothing but a fool.
I was her biological daughter, the one closest to her by blood, yet she always chose others over me. All she left me were wounds and sharp edges.
Lost in thought, I almost missed a step. The mountain path was damp, and overgrown with weeds. As I made my way up again, I slipped. Pain shot through my ankle as it swelled instantly.
“Who’s there?”