Chapter 1"Aria, you're ADOPTED—be grateful we even feed you."
At eight, Mom slapped an adoption paper in my face.
Spoiled princess? DEAD. To stay in that house, I kissed everyone's ass.
Sister bullied me? Swallowed it.
Brother screwed up? I took the fall.
Mom and Dad were "tired"? I cooked, cleaned, served. FREE.
Ten. Fucking. Years.
Then I overheard Aunt Patricia asking Mom.
"You give the adopted kid $3K a month."
"But your real daughter—Aria—only gets $300. How come she never complains?"
Mom smirked.
"Easy. Told her she's adopted."
"Forget $300—she'd thank me for NOTHING"
Turns out the adoption papers? Fake.
Their favoritism? REAL.
Fuck that.
I QUIT. For good.
...
The fruit plate slipped from my hands. Hit the floor with a sharp crack.
The voices inside the room cut off.
My hands shoke as I bent down to pick up the cherries.
Mom's footsteps got closer.
The door opened.
"Aria, you're clumsy as hell!"
"Eat whatever fell on the floor yourself. Wash another plate and bring it in."
Mom's tone was casual. Like nothing had just happened.
I looked up at her. Really looked at her face for the first time.
My eyebrows looked like hers.
Same high arches. Same hooded eyes.
But I'd spent my whole life thinking I was adopted.
So I never dared to think about it.
Aunt Patricia peeked out from behind her. Awkward.
I didn't ask questions.
Just grabbed the tray and headed to the living room.
Passed the dining room. Mia was sprawled on a chair scrolling through her Tiktok.
Designer makeup covered the table.
Carter was on the couch playing Switch.
His new jacket was casually tossed over a chair.
Meanwhile, I was still wearing the coat Aunt Patricia bought me three years ago. Out of pity.
I went back to the kitchen. Washed another batch of fruit.
The ones that fell? I didn't eat them.
But when no one was looking, I ate a cherry.
So this was what fresh cherries tasted like.
No trace of alcohol.
They didn't numb your tongue either.
I ate one after another.
As if it could make up all the bitterness I'd swallowed over the past fourteen years.
When I brought the tray out, Mia frowned.
"Where are the cherries? Didn't Mom tell you to buy a pound?"
"They fell. All gone."
"Useless."
She muttered it and went back to her phone.
Before, I would've apologized right away. Smiled like a dog.
But today, I just stared at her. Said nothing.
She must've noticed something was off. Looked up at me.
"What are you staring at?"
"Nothing."
I turned and walked to my room.
Leaned against the door and slowly slid down to the floor.
From eight to twenty-two.
Fourteen years.
I'd turned myself into their free maid.
Once I finally calmed down, I dug out the adoption certificate.
The creases were yellowed. The edges were frayed.
The same papers Mom threw in my face when I was eight.
I'd kept them all these years.
Because I was scared that one day they'd kick me out.
At least this paper proved I'd once had a family.
But now, it was the cruelest joke of all.
Chapter 2
I hadn't been in my room five minutes before Mom yelled for me to cook.
At eight, I couldn't even reach the stove.
All I could do was peel garlic and wash vegetables.
At nine, I stood on a stool to chop.
At ten, the kitchen became my responsibility.
Mom actually called me capable once. Rare praise.
Meanwhile, Mia—a year younger—lived like a princess.
She didn't need to tell cilantro from parsley.
Just had to whine "Mommy" and she got everything.
I started prepping dinner on autopilot.
Spent four hours in that kitchen. Alone.
By the time twelve dishes hit the table—
Carter and Mia were already seated. Both glued to their phones.
Not one of them lifted a finger to help me.
I barely sat down before Mom called out.
"Aria, go pour Uncle David a drink."
I poured the wine.
"Aria, Mia's glass is empty. Get her some juice."
I poured the juice.
"Aria, bring the fish over here. Your brother loves it."
I brought the fish.
The whole meal, I spun like a top.
After everyone finished, I cleared the plates.
Ate leftovers alone in the kitchen.
Aunt Patricia walked by and spotted me. Wanted to say something but finally didn't.
After she left, I heard Cousin Emma whisper to her.
"Mom, Aria IS the real daughter."
"So why does it feel like the adopted one lives better than her?"
"Mind your own business."
Aunt Patricia cut her off.
My hand stopped mid-bite. Then I kept eating.
So they all knew Mia was the adopted one.
Everyone knew but me.
The next morning, I woke up even earlier.
I hadn't slept all night, and my head was still foggy.
But my body went on autopilot. Started making breakfast.
By the time I snapped out of it, the table was full.
Mom and Dad had bad stomachs. They hot milk in the morning.
Carter ate a lot. I made him two extra eggs with ham.
Mia was picky.
I made her a cheese and bacon pancake. Cut it into bites so she could scroll while eating.
And me?
I'd never once made proper breakfast just for myself.
What did I even like?
It had never mattered.
Their leftovers were enough.
This time, I made myself a bowl of chicken soup too.
Sat at the table. Took a bite.
So this was what hot chicken soup tasted like.
It was actually delicious.
After breakfast, I grabbed a strand of my hair and went to the hospital.
Paid extra for a rush order.
I spent the entire afternoon waiting in agony.
Then the results finally came.
99.99% match.
Biological mother and daughter.
I stared at the report for a long time.
Then carefully folded it and pressed it against my chest.
On the way back, I ran into an old elementary school classmate.
She turned around a few times before stopping.
"Aria Morgan?"
When I nodded, she pulled me into a conversation.
"Almost didn't recognize you."
"I remember you didn't used to look like this."
I asked, "What was I like back then?"
She thought for a second.
"You were like this little fireball back then. Scared of nothing."
After she left, the tears finally came.
Before I turned eight, if my parents bought something, I had to get one too.
Mom used to grab my ear and call me bossy.
But I'd just laugh it off.
I was their real daughter. Of course Mom loved me best.
Once I found out I was adopted, I lost every bit of that confidence.
The old me is dead.
Chapter 3
A week into the semester, the school sent out bills.
Dorm fees and textbooks. $2,800 total.
The DNA test had drained almost everything I had.
After hesitating for a long time, I finally called Mom.
She went quiet for a few seconds.
"Again? Didn't I just give you three hundred last month?"
"That was living expenses. This is tuition."
"Fine, fine. I'll transfer it later."
I waited a week. Nothing.
Called again.
"Mom, about the tuition—"
Mom cut me off.
"Aria, why is every phone call from you about money?"
"Mia's dance classes cost eight grand a semester."
"Carter just signed up for driving school."
"We adopted you, but you're an adult now. You can't expect us to pay for everything."
Maybe I stayed silent for too long.
Mom sighed. Sounded annoyed.
"End of the month. I'll send it when I get paid."
By the end of the month, the school had sent me three payment reminders.
My professor DM'd me.
"Aria, is everything okay at home? Any financial trouble?"
I stared at the screen.
Typed out a few lines, then deleted them all.
Finally, I replied:
"Family's tight on cash right now. I'll have it paid by next week."
Friday night, I came home.
Heard Mom talking to Dad by the door.
"Aria's tuition is $2,800. Can you transfer it?"
"She needs money again? Didn't we just give her three hundred last month?"
"Three hundred doesn't cover anything. Mia's shoes alone cost eight hundred. If you hadn't insisted on adopting back then—"
I pushed the door open.
They both looked at me in shock.
I pretended I hadn't heard a thing. Changed my shoes. Went inside.
The next day, my phone buzzed.
Bank notification: $300 received.
Transfer note: "This month's allowance. Make it last."
$2,800 tuition. They sent $300.
I sat on my dorm bed and laughed.
Laughed until my eyes stung.
I didn't call again.
Just wrote down the $300 in my old notebook.
I'd been keeping track since I was eight.
Every meal. Every expense. Every dollar they gave me.
I wrote it all down.
I didn't want my "adoptive parents" to lose money on me.
I wanted to grow up quickly, get a job, and pay them back.
Fourteen years. Total owed: $48,562.70.
But I'd been their free maid all that time.
Hiring a housekeeper costs money.
A meal? Ten bucks.
Cleaning? Three bucks per session.
By that calculation, I'd paid them back years ago.
Birth or adoption—it didn't matter.
I didn't owe them a damn thing anymore.
And I didn't want to owe them anything ever again.
My roommate, Riley, noticed something was off.
"What happened?"
I tossed my burning-hot phone onto the bed.
"You know any side gigs that pay decent?"
She looked stunned.
"Don't you already have like THREE part-time jobs?"
"Plus, your grades are good. Why not go to grad school?"
"I don't have money."
Riley went quiet.
A few minutes later, she told me about a job. Waitressing at a high-end hotel.
Lunch and dinner shifts. Clear plates, wipe tables.
Free meals. Two hundred bucks a day.
Good thing senior year had barely any classes.
A month later, I'd saved enough for tuition.
The day I paid it off, I treated myself to a beef burger.
A freshman walked by with her mom. Both laughing about something.
I checked my phone.
Mom's last text was from two weeks ago.
"Aria, the curtains need washing. Come home this weekend and take them down."
So I went home that weekend.
Washed the curtains and mopped the floors while I was at it.
Mom sat on the couch scrolling through videos.
"Aria, you have enough money this month?"
I stopped mid-mop.
It was the first time she'd ever asked.
"Yeah. Enough."
She nodded. Satisfied.
"Good. Mia went over budget this month. I need to cover the difference."
"Be understanding, okay? After all..."
I knew what she didn't say.
After all, I was adopted. Didn't deserve the good life.
But the truth was—their real daughter was the one struggling.
The adopted one was living in luxury.
How could she not feel even a little guilty?
