When my SAT results came out, I had scored an impressive 1580, while my younger sister only managed a 1000.

Relatives and friends came over with heartfelt congratulations, praising how I was definitely bound for Harvard and how I would bring glory to our family.

But my mom quietly packed my suitcase behind their backs and handed me a train ticket.

“Anna, your younger sister will be the one going to college. You’re going to work at the factory and earn money to support her,” she said flatly. “If anyone from the village asks, just tell them you chose not to continue your studies.”

Mom had always favored my sister, but she despised me.

“Why don’t you just drop dead already?” she often spat at me, venom lacing her words.

Later, when I really did die, she went insane. Kneeling before my grave, she banged her head on the ground over and over.

——

The day the exam results were released, I had just received my diagnosis: advanced-stage stomach cancer.

The doctor told me it was terminal and advised me to go home, eat well, and stay in a good mood. Maybe, just maybe, I’d last another few weeks.

But what he didn’t realize was that dying felt more like a relief to me.

I went back to the house I could never call warm, the diagnosis still crumpled in my pocket.

Inside, I could hear the voices of relatives and friends congratulating my family.

“Congratulations, Marianne,” one of them gushed to my mom. “Your Anna scored so high. She’s definitely going to Harvard!”

“This is amazing! No one from our village has ever gone to Harvard. Your ancestors must be smiling down on you!” another added.

“We should make sure we send her off with a grand celebration,” someone else chimed in.

My mom kept wiping down the table without looking up, uninterested. “What’s there to celebrate? You all know our situation – we can only afford to send one kid to college.”

Everyone knew about our family’s financial struggles. We survived on what little my dad could send back from his job in the city.

“But surely you’d send Anna,” they insisted. “She’s got a shot at a top-tier school, unlike your younger daughter who can only manage a community college. You wouldn’t take that away from her, would you?”

From my sister’s room came the sound of sobbing and things being thrown.

My mom’s face hardened, and she threw the rag down, shoving the guests out the door. “That’s enough! Out with you all. This is none of your business!”

As the crowd dispersed, I stood there, my heart hammering and my palms damp with sweat, clutching the diagnosis in my hand.

Should I tell my mom that I was dying?

Maybe, just maybe, she’d feel a twinge of compassion, despite her usual disdain for me.

Could she cry for me, hold me, and say, “Anna, please don’t die. I do love you. I was just teasing you all this time”?

Holding onto that desperate hope, I moved toward my sister’s room, only to stop dead at the doorway when I overheard my mom’s words.

“Don’t worry, Mia,” she said with steely conviction. “You’re the one who’ll be going to college.”

And then, I heard her on the phone with Dad.

“Hey, the results are out. Mia scored much higher than Anna,” she lied effortlessly.

It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over me, chilling me to the bone.

My legs gave out, and I nearly collapsed, clutching the wall for support as a sharp pain stabbed through my chest.

How foolish of me to hope, even for a moment.

Mom had always favored my sister. After all, she never liked me.

From the moment I was born, my mother never liked me.

I once overheard our elderly neighbor, Julia, saying that when my mother first saw me in the delivery room, she let out a horrified scream, thrashing and nearly rolling off the birthing bed as if I were some kind of plague.

During her postpartum period, she treated me like I was something venomous, refusing to feed me.

She wouldn’t even change my diapers, leaving me soaked for so long that my skin began to rot, until that same kind neighbor took pity and stepped in to help.

Yet, my twin sister, born just minutes after me, was cherished and adored.

She was the treasure in my mother’s eyes, while I was nothing but a weed.

When a big bowl of chicken soup was served, it was placed before my sister, and my mother would lovingly cool each spoonful for her.

I, on the other hand, was left with nothing but plain bread.

Once, she handed over a chicken drumstick, and just as I eagerly reached out my plate, she tossed it to the family dog, muttering, “I’d rather feed the dog than you.”

My sister always got brand-new clothes, and when they were finally outgrown, they were used to wipe down tables before being tossed my way.

If I shed even a single tear, my mother would snatch them back, throwing them straight into the trash.

“Wear it or don’t. I don’t care,” she’d snap.

While my sister never had to lift a finger, I was forced to take on all the chores.

After school, she’d do her homework while I washed clothes.

She’d watch TV while I cooked.

When she slept, I’d stay up late struggling with my own schoolwork.

Originally, my mother didn’t even want to send me to school. She bought a few goats and planned to have me herd them up in the fields.

It wasn’t until a local community organization stepped in that I finally got my chance to attend school, which is why I treasured it all the more.

I studied diligently, believing that if I excelled, maybe – just maybe – my mother would learn to love me.

But when I brought home a perfect score, she wouldn’t even glance at it, crumpling it up and throwing it straight into the trash.

Then, she’d turn around and praise my sister, who had barely managed to pass, rewarding her with a bag of chips I had never tasted.

My mother hated me, always wishing I’d disappear from her sight. The only time she pretended to be a loving parent was when my father was around.

I suspect that if it weren’t for fear of his anger, she would’ve left me at the hospital the day I was born.

My sister, in contrast, grew up plump and radiant, dressed in beautiful dresses like a little princess.

I, on the other hand, malnourished and overworked, was skinny, short, and as tanned as could be – a real “ugly duckling,” as the neighbors would say.

While my mother paraded my sister around to anyone who would listen, she’d keep me at a distance, as if ashamed to acknowledge our connection.

I couldn’t understand it – what had I done wrong?

Just as the sun began to rise, my mother woke me up and shoved a bus ticket into my hand.

It was a ticket to the city.

“You know our family’s situation,” she began. “We can only afford to send one of you to college. Your father and I have decided that it’ll be your sister.”

She had not an ounce of guilt as she spoke. “She’s younger, and you should take on more of the burden.”

My sleepiness vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, stinging feeling that spread through my entire body.

Tears began to fall as I finally reached my breaking point, shouting with all the frustration that had been building up inside me.

“Why?! I’m the one with the better grades. I deserve to go to school! How can you be so unfair?”

Slap!

Her hand struck my face with such force that my head snapped to the side, the words I wanted to say dying on my lips.

She glared at me, her eyes full of undisguised disgust. “What’s the point of you going to school? You’ll just end up getting married someday. But your sister, she’s destined for something greater.

“Besides,” she added coldly, “I spent quite a bit of money to arrange that factory job for you. When you get your salary, make sure to send some of it to your sister’s account every month. She can’t be struggling while she’s at school.

“And remember,” she said, almost as an afterthought, “if anyone in the village asks, you’re to tell them that it was your choice to work and help the family out.”

“I won’t go! I’d rather die than do this!” I screamed, ripping the ticket into pieces and letting them flutter to the ground like snow.

A sharp pain twisted in my stomach, and I clutched my abdomen, sweat dotting my forehead.

“Then just go and die already!” she shrieked, lifting the suitcase and hurling it at me, cursing me through gritted teeth.

It hurt, but what hurt more was my heart.

As I stared at her furious, twisted face, something inside me broke.

So this was it. Even if I died right in front of her, not a single tear would fall from her eyes.

How foolish of me to think that she’d ever care, that she’d ever love me.

I left the house still wearing my pajamas, walking aimlessly into the chilly morning, trying to escape this loveless hell.