Chapter 3: Cold Cash, Colder Brother

No garden to tend. No chores to do. Just empty rooms and strangers who called themselves family.

So I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong.

I sat in that room, hugging the bear, wondering if I was the problem. Wondering if maybe I was just too much. The doubt gnawed at me.

I only stayed in Ava’s room for half a day before my brother Mason, who’d rushed home, dragged me out.

He stormed in, face flushed, yanking me by the arm. The book I was reading slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. My heart jumped.

He was furious, yanking me—while I was reading—out into the hallway and laying into me: “Don’t you have any manners? This is Ava’s room. You’re just taking over her place—how can you be so shameless!”

His words were sharp, each one landing like a slap. His grip was tight, leaving marks on my skin. I stared at him, stunned.

I was stunned—not just because it was my first time meeting my brother, but because I truly didn’t get it. How was I taking her place?

My heart pounded, confusion and fear tangling together. I’d never been yelled at like that by someone who was supposed to be my brother.

Scared, I called for my parents.

My voice shook as I called out, hoping they’d step in, hoping someone would explain.

They hurried upstairs, but Mason spoke first: “Dad, Mom, how could you let this happen? This is Ava’s room. If you treat her like this, it’ll break her heart.”

He looked from me to them, voice rising. He made it sound like I’d committed some terrible crime. I shrank back.

My parents looked conflicted, not knowing what to say. Their faces were tight, uncertain.

They hovered in the doorway, eyes darting between us. No one took my side. I felt myself shrinking.

I caught the flash of anger in my mom’s eyes—a look I’d seen before, back in my foster home. My stomach twisted.

It was the same look adults gave when you’d made their lives harder, when you were just another problem to solve. I felt like a burden all over again.

Mom was angry with me!

My stomach dropped. I realized, then, that I’d never really belonged here.

So I really was just a stranger in someone else’s nest.

It hit me all at once—the way they looked at me, the way they hesitated. I was just a guest, and I’d overstayed my welcome.

The cuckoo perches carefully, year after year, until it finally jumps from the rooftop. I remembered reading that line. It echoed in my head, sharp and sad.

I’d read that line somewhere—about a bird that lays its eggs in another’s nest. It felt like my story. I was the cuckoo, always the outsider.

So dumb.

I clenched my fists, angry at myself for not seeing it sooner. My chest burned with regret.

This time, I won’t be dumb again.

I promised myself that much. No more begging. No more hoping for things that weren’t mine.

This time, I won’t fight or compete. Won’t cry or make a fuss. And definitely won’t love them again.

No more scenes. No more drama. I’d keep my head down, keep my heart safe.

I smiled to myself and pointed to the smallest room at the very end of the hall.

It was barely bigger than a closet, tucked away behind a stack of boxes. But it was mine, and that was enough.

“I want that one.”

My voice was steady, my smile polite. I could see the relief flicker across their faces.

My parents froze, then looked relieved, pretending to scold me: “That’s just a storage room, why pick that? Pick again.”

They tried to sound disappointed, but you could hear the hope in their voices. Maybe I’d finally stopped making things difficult.

“I’m used to small rooms—they feel safer.”

I shrugged, letting the words hang in the air. My voice was tinged with self-mockery, but I meant it.

My parents sighed and agreed.

They shared a look, then nodded. Just like that, it was settled.

Just like that, they let their biological daughter—missing for ten years—move into the storage room.

No protest, no second thoughts. It was almost funny, if it hadn’t hurt so much.

The other daughter, Ava, came back at just the right time.

She burst through the front door, breathless, hair mussed like she’d been running. She called out for Mom and Dad, her voice trembling just enough to sound sincere.

She ran upstairs, surprised to see me heading into the storage room.

She stopped short, eyes wide, as if she hadn’t expected to see me there. I could see the calculation behind her surprise, quick and sharp.

I glanced at her, calm and unfazed.

I met her gaze, steady and cool. I wanted her to know I saw through her act.

She thought I didn’t know she’d deliberately put that teddy bear in her room to lure me into picking it. I almost wanted to laugh at how obvious it was now.

She’d set the trap so carefully, making sure I’d want what wasn’t mine. It was almost impressive—almost.

From the first day I came home, I’d fallen right into her carefully set trap.

I was the perfect mark—naive, desperate for love. She knew exactly how to play me.

She spent three years fighting with me for the family’s love, and finally won.

She’d gotten everything she wanted—my parents’ affection, my brother’s loyalty, the perfect life.

And I, only through dying, understood one thing:

It took losing everything to finally see the truth. It took dying to realize I’d never win this game.