The Ugly Daughter Was The Only Real One
Language: en
My parents were textbook examples of playing favorites. On my birthday, our house was empty. Just me and the silence. Meanwhile, Scarlett—my sister—posted a nine-grid photo of her opulent cake on Instagram, my parents beaming around her like she was the sun. I called the house, the sound of laughter echoing on the other end, but I still gathered the nerve to ask, my voice small and cautious: “Why… why didn’t I even get a ‘Happy Birthday’?” A beat of silence, then Victoria’s laugh, light and easy, floated through the line. “Well, Scarlett is beautiful, isn’t she? She’s a statement…