Chapter 1: A Birthday for the Unwanted

Dad used to say Mom was his whole world. But she died, and everyone—especially Dad—acted like it was my fault.

Later, Dad adopted another daughter. Savannah. She looked so much like Mom, it was creepy.

On our sixteenth birthday—

He lifted Savannah up like she was royalty, while I skulked in the corner, the kid everyone assumed belonged to the help.

That’s when my phone rang.

"Sweetheart, happy birthday."

"It’s been so long. Mommy misses you so much."

Me:

Mom has come back.

1

The kitchen smelled like frosted cupcakes and pizza rolls. Balloons in metallic pinks floated above the table, and someone had spelled out SAVANNAH in gold letter balloons. When one of Savannah’s guests ordered me to go wash her car, my dad, Marcus, happened to walk in.

His assistant trailed behind, carrying a pricey Swarovski castle, which he handed to Savannah. All her classmates gasped, eyes wide with envy.

It was like one of those Instagram birthday reels—sunlight glittering off the fake diamonds, everyone pulling out their phones, whispering about how much it must’ve cost. You could almost smell the money in the air.

Then I heard Marcus’s voice, syrupy sweet:

"All yours, princess. Happy birthday."

The only princess.

I tasted those words, and my heart twisted a little tighter.

Today isn’t just Savannah’s birthday. It’s mine, too. But like every year, I got nothing. Not a card. Not even a fake smile.

Because in Marcus’s eyes, I’m a sinner. Unworthy of a birthday. Because I killed Mom.

The words bounce around my skull every year. No gifts, no hugs—just me, standing by the window, watching the neighborhood kids tossing a Nerf football, their laughter echoing through the open window while I stood with my hands jammed in my pockets, wondering what it’s like to be celebrated.

2

Ten years ago today, Mom died in a car crash. She was out buying the strawberry cake I begged for.

She never came back.

After that, Dad barely looked at me. When he did, it was like I was something he couldn’t stand to see.

At the funeral, he told everyone: "Natalie is no longer my daughter."

I crouched on the ground, eyes red, not understanding how he could say something like that.

Back then, I was too little to grasp how deep his cruelty went. It took growing up to realize how final those words really were.

Later, his tech company hit it big. He became a CEO, rolling in money. Then he adopted Savannah.

From then on—

He loved only Savannah.

She got the master bedroom. I got the basement guest room.

She was chauffeured to her private school. I rode the city bus alone.

Her closet overflowed with new clothes. I wore whatever she’d outgrown.

She lived like a princess. I lived like a servant—just food and shelter, nothing else.

Yeah. I’m a servant. No father, no mother.

And somehow, in the daily grind—packing my own brown-bag lunch, listening to the silence of the basement at night while Savannah’s music thumped above—I learned to disappear. To keep my head down, say thank you, and slip out of the way. That’s what being unwanted feels like in America: invisible.

3

But I want to be a princess, too.

I remember when I was little, Marcus promised me.

Back then, Mom was still around, Marcus’s startup was just getting off the ground, and the three of us squeezed into a cramped apartment above a laundromat in Toledo. The smell of dryer sheets and burnt toast always hung in the air.

Mom always had his back, even sneaking the birthday money Grandpa Joe gave me into his account.

"Natalie and I don’t spend much. Don’t worry," she’d say.

I loved to copy her, teasing Marcus: "Daddy’s not worried. Natalie’s piggy bank, all for Daddy..."

Before I could finish, Marcus would laugh and pull us both close, his face pressed between ours.

Sometimes, hot tears would drip onto my chubby cheek. I’d giggle, thinking it was funny.

Looking back, those must have been Marcus’s tears.

Before I turned ten, he’d always say:

"When Daddy makes it big, I’ll make Natalie a princess, okay?"

……

See? He promised. But he broke his promise.

Just thinking about it—

A shrill, mocking voice yanked me back: "Hey, housekeeper girl, why haven’t you washed the car yet? You think just because I’m Savannah’s classmate, I’m not important?"

Savannah goes to a private academy. Her classmates are all rich, naturally arrogant.

But I am not a maid.

I glared at her, ready to snap back. My jaw clenched. I wanted to say something, but I could already hear Dad’s voice in my head, telling me not to make a scene.

Sure enough—

Marcus’s cold voice came at me: "Why aren’t you going?"

Why not go?

The words hit me like a sledgehammer. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room on me, as if I were on trial. If I’d had any dignity left, it got washed away the moment I nodded. I almost wished I could just disappear into the wallpaper. But I shoved my hands in my pockets and went.