The butler hesitated. "Sir, it's about to rain..."
Father waved dismissively. "A little rain won't kill her! Sometimes I wish she wasn't my daughter!"
I smiled. The little rain will hasten the death of a tuberculosis patient like me.
But the good news for them was that I, the disobedient daughter, would die soon, so they wouldn't be upset by me anymore.
After the heavy rain, I developed a mild fever, just as I had predicted.
The room was filled with the bitter smell of medicine.
I lay in bed coughing lightly. When my mother came to see me and found me pale and weak, she frowned and said, "Why is your health so frail? Just a bit of rain and you get a fever? If it were Violet, she wouldn't be like this…"
I pursed my lips and stayed silent. Maybe because I looked too pitiful, my mother's expression softened slightly. She said, "If you were more obedient, things wouldn't have turned out this way."
I couldn't help but ask, "What do you mean by being more obedient?"
She answered without hesitation, "To be like Violet."
I fell silent. My mother had often lamented more than once that it would be wonderful if Violet were her biological daughter.