Scorched by Fate: A Daughter’s Rebirth
When I was six, I spilled hot water, slipped, and burned my face. My face was ruined. My parents learned their lesson and never let my younger sister do housework. To everyone they met, they praised her beauty, her charm. They turned to me with nothing but disdain.
When I was ten, I had a high fever. They didn't think much of it and let it drag on until my brain was damaged, leaving me slow and dull. They learned their lesson again. From then on, if my sister so much as coughed, they would rush her to the hospital in the dead of night, showering her with care.
I was like a failed experiment. Every mistake they made with me, they corrected for her.
I was ugly, silent, dim-witted, unwanted. She was beautiful, sweet-talking, clever, adored by all.
When I was diagnosed with depression, I gathered what little courage I had and told them. Mom lashed out, called me sick in the head, and accused me of being petty. If I was so capable, she said, I might as well die.
It wasn't until my sister pushed me off a high-rise that they found out, by sheer accident, that she wasn't their child at all.
I was their one and only biological child.
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