Chapter 1They waited until after the cake.
Mom slid the envelope across the table while guests were still milling around with champagne.
"Diana, we had some genetic testing done. You're not biologically ours."
Dad didn't even look up.
"So you're not family anymore. You can stay if you work for it—housekeeping, errands, whatever. Minimum wage. You pay your own way."
I didn't react. Just nodded.
Because last night, I'd already heard everything through their bedroom door.
Chloe had been curled between them, voice dripping sugar.
"For my birthday, I want to be an only child. Just for one year. Make Diana the help or something—I want you all to myself."
Dad had kissed her head. "Done. Whatever you want, princess."
Mom had laughed. "This year, baby, we're all yours."
I'd stood in that hallway, nails cutting into my palms.
They'd forgotten we're twins. We share the same birthday.
But my birthday wish was different.
I wanted out of this family. Not for a year.
Forever.
...
Chloe's gasp cut through the room.
"Oh my God, Diana—that's why you're so plain! You don't look like anyone in this family. You really are a fake."
She said it loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Funny how she forgot we're twins.
"Wait—you're not even my sister. You're just some stray we took in."
Mom's expression went cold. "This party was for Chloe. You don't belong here."
Belong.
I glanced at Chloe in her custom gown and diamond tiara, then down at my thrift store jeans and fraying shirt.
I almost laughed. How do you lose something you never had?
Dad's voice boomed. "Tonight you move to the basement. You work, you stay. That's the deal."
Whispers spread through the crowd.
I grabbed my backpack.
The safety pin holding the broken zipper finally gave out—everything hit the floor.
Chloe pounced. "See? She's been stealing from us."
Books everywhere. And one tampon, still wrapped.
Mom shifted uncomfortably. "Chloe, it's just—"
"I'm the daughter now. She's nothing." Chloe's heel came down on the tampon, grinding it into the marble. "There. Keep it."
I picked up my books. Left the rest.
Mrs. Zhang led me to a storage room in the basement.
Fifty square feet, a cot, one rusted window.
She hesitated at the door. "I'm sorry, Miss Diana."
Just then a cockroach darted across the floor. She looked away.
Shook her head and left, muttering under her breath.
"They look identical. How could she not be..."
I sat on the cot, staring at the dark through the window.
One year. Then I'm gone.
...
That night, cramps hit. No supplies left—I wadded up toilet paper and tried to sleep.
Coming back from the bathroom, I heard them in the hall.
Mom's voice, quiet. "What if she hates us? She's still ours."
Dad snorted. "She's always been terrible to Chloe. This'll teach her."
"Once Chloe's bored, we'll say the test was wrong. Diana gets her life back. Problem solved."
I stood in the dark, nails cutting into my palms.
They thought I'd wait around to be wanted again.
They were wrong.
Chapter 2
The next morning, I walked to the drugstore for tampons.
My card declined.
Impossible. I had two hundred dollars saved. I'd checked last week.
The cashier looked at me like I was trying to steal.
I left the tampons on the counter.
Back at the house, they were all at the table, laughing over breakfast.
A gift bag sat between them.
Mom ran her fingers over the scarf, smiling.
"Chloe, honey, you didn't have to do this."
Dad held up a plastic water bottle, grinning. "Look at this. My girl's so thoughtful."
Chloe nestled into Mom's side, voice syrupy. "It was only two hundred dollars. I hope that's okay?"
Mom kissed her forehead. "I'd love it if it cost two cents. It's from you—that's all that matters."
Dad kept his eyes on the bottle. "Some people only know how to take. Never give. That's the difference between a daughter and a—"
His eyes flicked to the doorway. He stopped.
Chloe tilted her head. Looked right at me.
That smile—pure venom.
Two hundred dollars. Two months of saving. Everything I had left.
My body went cold. Something inside me cracked wide open.
Before I knew what I was doing, I had her by the arm, my hand already raised.
Dad's boot caught me in the ribs before I could swing.
I hit the coffee table hard, corner first.
The pain whited out everything.
Chloe grabbed her arm—barely pink—and screamed like she'd been stabbed.
"Daddy! Mommy! I think it's broken!"
Mom's face went white. "Oh my God—we need an ambulance, we need—"
"No time." Dad was already jangling his keys, halfway to the door. "I'll drive her myself."
Chloe's voice cut through, sharp and clear. "No!"
She pointed down at me, still crumpled on the floor.
"She did this to me. So she's the one who carries me! All the way to the hospital!"
Twelve miles to the hospital.
Mom's face went hard to me. "After everything we gave you, you attack my daughter? Do what she says."
Dad yanked me up by the collar. "Quit the act. It was nothing. Get her on your back. Now. Or you're out tonight!"
I believed him.
But I couldn't leave yet.
So I bent down, and Chloe climbed on.
...
Dad drove alongside me, window down.
"Faster, Diana. Drop her and you're done."
Mom leaned out. "Hurry up. She's hurt."
Chloe's breath was hot on my neck. "See? Nobody here loves you. You're just a stray we picked up."
It should've destroyed me. But I was already numb.
Suddenly, half a block from the ER, something sharp dug into my spine.
A safety pin.
My legs gave out—we both hit the pavement hard.
Dad slammed on the brakes. They were out of the car in seconds, hauling Chloe up and sprinting toward the ER entrance.
Mom threw one look over her shoulder. "You made it this far. Figure out the rest yourself."
I didn't go in.
No money. No insurance card.
I sat on the steps until the sky went dark, then walked home.
When I opened the door, they were waiting.
Along with two strangers.
Middle-aged. Stained jackets. Nervous hands.
Dad gestured at them. "These are your real parents. Go pack. You're leaving tonight."
Chapter 3
Nobody moved.
Mom walked over and took my hand, but her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
"Diana, look—this isn't easy for anyone. But your real parents are here now. There's no reason for you to stay."
I thought I was done crying.
The tears came anyway.
Seventeen years.
I'd spent seventeen years trying to earn their love, trying to prove I deserved a place here.
And they couldn't even let me have a corner.
Mom's hand started to lift—Chloe grabbed it before she could reach me.
"Congrats, Diana. Guess you're not a bastard anymore."
The woman by the door lunged at me, her fingernails digging into my wrist. She let out this loud, ugly sob.
"My baby! I finally found you! Come on, we're going home!"
The man grabbed my other arm and started dragging me toward the door.
"Yeah, yeah, let's not overstay our welcome. Mr. and Mrs. Lawson have been too generous already."
"Wait." Chloe's eyes gleamed. "Diana, shouldn't you, like, thank them or something? On your knees? I mean, unless you're embarrassed because they're poor..."
I froze. Looked at Mom and Dad. "You want me to kneel?"
They wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Come on, Diana," Chloe sang. "Everyone's watching."
I laughed, and it sounded like breaking glass.
Something inside me broke clean through.
Chloe wanted a show? Fine.
I looked Mom and Dad dead in the eye and said, loud enough for the whole room to hear:
"We're done. You and me. This family and me. We're done."
Mom and Dad glanced at each other.
I saw the panic in their eyes.
But I was already turning away, already walking toward the strangers at the door.
Mom's voice chased me into the hallway. "You still owe us! For everything we spent on you—"
I stopped. Didn't turn around.
"Fine."
They thought they'd poured money into me.
They forgot.
The daughter they spoiled—the one who got everything—that was Chloe.
Me? Three hundred dollars a month.
And Chloe took most of it.
If I didn't hand it over, she'd cry to them. Tell them I was bullying her, making her life hell at school.
They'd lock me in my room. No food. Sometimes for days.
Once, she told them I'd pushed her so hard she wanted to kill herself.
They made me stand outside during a thunderstorm. All night.
I spiked a 104-degree fever. No one came.
It had always been that way.
Whatever Chloe said, they believed. Whatever I said didn't matter.
My words. My tears. My pain.
Worth nothing.
Just like me.
...
That night, I ended up in a Section 8 apartment that reeked of mildew and rot.
No spare bed. No blanket.
I slept on the bathroom floor. The window was patched with newspaper, and freezing air poured through the gaps.
By morning, I couldn't stop shaking.
Through the fever haze, I heard the woman on the phone.
"Mr. Lawson, Mrs. Lawson—she's sick. Really sick. Running a fever."
"Then take her to the hospital!"
Then Chloe, crystal clear over speakerphone.
"Daddy, don't you think it's suspicious? She leaves last night and suddenly she's dying today? She's obviously faking to guilt-trip you."
For a second, no one said anything. Then I heard Dad take a breath.
"Don't call us again. She made her choice. Let her deal with it."
Mom's voice was sharp with irritation.
"She's not our problem anymore. We're taking Chloe on vacation. Stop bothering us."
The line went dead.
No one came.
I don't know how long I stayed on that bathroom floor. At some point, I realized I had to move or I'd die there.
So I crawled. Bathroom to hallway. Hallway to the front door. Door to the street.
My legs quit halfway down the block. I hit the sidewalk hard.
That's the last thing I remember.
