So when I found out the lottery ticket I'd bought had won fifty million, the first thing I did was request time off to come home and get Mom proper treatment.
I never expected to hear this cruel truth instead.
Face blindness.
Mixing up her daughters.
All of it—every single bit—was an act Mom had put on because she favored my sister.
For twenty-five years.
I was the only fool. Taking beatings, enduring scoldings, and stupidly feeling sorry for everyone else.
I stood outside the door. Suddenly, the lottery ticket in my hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
My legs went weak beneath me. I stumbled backward, unable to stop myself.
Hearing the noise, Mom turned toward the doorway.
The moment she saw me, her face—so warm and kind just seconds ago—twisted into something ugly:
"You little wretch, so you finally decided to come home? The neighbors told me you played cards all night yesterday and lost everything?"
"Do you have any idea how hard your sister works to earn money? Why can't you learn something from her?"
Mom's acting really was flawless.
If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I still wouldn't believe it—this furious disappointment at "mixing up" her daughters was all fake.