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.

It was a stifling July morning with no breeze in the air.

Wearing only my pajamas, my hair a tangled mess, I walked along the small country road. The villagers working in the fields called out to me.

“Hey, Anna, what did you do this time to get kicked out by your mom so early?”

This wasn’t new to them. I was often thrown out of the house, not because I’d done something wrong but because my sister would start trouble, and my mother would always take her side.

Every time, I’d hear my mother’s screams telling me to get out.

Somehow, whenever something went wrong, I was always to blame.

Ignoring their taunts, I trudged on, not knowing where to go.

The world felt vast, but there was no place for me to belong.

Why was I even born if there was no room for me?

A stray mother cat darted across the path, her kittens following closely behind. Even animals knew to protect their young. Why did my mother hate me so much?

I followed the cat up the hill until I lost track of her.

I collapsed onto a large rock, staring at the sheer drop below. I was dying anyway – what did it matter if I jumped?

But I didn’t. There was still one person in this world who cared about me, and no matter what, I had to see him one last time. My father.

Unlike my mother’s hatred, my father loved me deeply.

He worked far away most of the year, but whenever he returned, he always brought gifts.

If my sister got one, I got one too.

Whenever he bought new clothes, he’d buy two – one for my sister and one for me.

When he took us out, he’d hold my sister’s hand in one hand and mine in the other.

With him around, I felt just as cherished as my sister.

A sharp pain twisted in my stomach, forcing my eyes shut. Tears streamed down my face, falling into the abyss below.

Suddenly, the sound of rain woke me.

Fat raindrops splattered on my face, and I opened my eyes to the sight of the pouring rain. Finally, I broke down and cried.

“Dad, I miss you so much.”