It was all on you.

Mom and Dad said adopting Jane was supposed to keep me from getting lonely.

But since Jane showed up, I had become the loneliest one around here.

They just let her tear up my dresses, shove whiskey down my throat, and even kill my puppy.

Mom told me to toughen up and look out for my "sister".

I hadn't told her that I was seriously ill, practically knocking on death's door.

1

That day was Valentine's Day.

I was two months into saying no to chemo.

The doctors weren't kidding—my health was tanking, and now I could barely make out the fireworks outside.

Sitting by the window, I soaked in the smell of gunpowder, the distant laughter, the whole nine yards of holiday cheer.

Just my luck, some clunky machine noise cut right through my moment of peace.

The door swung open.

There were Jane and Mom, arm in arm, walking in.

Mom squinted with a grin, "It's still early; I'll make some sweet cake. We'll have a nice family evening until your dad gets back and we all jet off somewhere fun."

Catching sight of me at the window, she froze.

Blurry as it was, I watched her smile slowly drop.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Her voice was icy, tinged with fury, like she was grilling a criminal.

"There."

I nodded towards the door handle, "Picked the lock. Fixed it afterward."

I felt her anger spike, "Who gave you the right to break in? That's straight-up illegal—you could end up behind bars."

"Don't know what shady crowds you've been running with, learning all these low-life tricks."

Yep, that was Mom—always a bucket of warmth for me.

Returning home only to be treated like I was some kind of thief.

I never wanted to come back here, but it wasn't like I could drop dead just anywhere.

That would cause troubles I didn't want.

So, I thought I might as well stir the pot a little longer.

You get to a point of so many letdowns, you stop letting yourself get trampled on.

Zero expectations lead to zero fears.

"No matter how low-down, you're the one who had me. You trash-talk me, what about yourself?"

Mom's voice shook with rage, "Repeat that, how on earth did I end up raising someone so heartless... I should've strangled you when I had the chance."

She was so mad she wanted to hit me, but Jane stopped her.

Jane's voice was all sugary sweet, like a harmless kitten.

"Mom, Nora just says things straight-up. Don't be mad at her. It's good she's here to celebrate with us. We should all be happy together."

Mom shot me a death glare, "You call it straight-up, I call it classless and clueless. It's a wonder you haven't been beaten to a pulp out there."

I stared back at her, feeling the disgust pouring out.

Sorry to disappoint—I'm still not dead.

But I guess I'd be checking out soon.

I smirked, "Don't worry, Mom, I'll die right in front of you."

"Quit with the threats—they don't work on me."

Mom, it was no threat. It was a fact.

Jane, always the peacemaker, said, "Look, Nora, you're my sister, and it's rare for you to drop by. Let's not fight. I'll make the cake, and we can all eat together."

She was looking at me, all smiles, but I felt like throwing up.

I shoved her hand away, "I'm not your sister. Stop calling me that. Just because they picked you up from somewhere doesn't mean you belong here."

Jane started bawling, tears streaming down like rain. It was really pitiful.

"Nora, sorry I ticked you off again."

I felt my face burning, and my ears ringing from the slap.

Mom had quite the swing.

"You threw all your education away. She's your sister, how dare you talk to her like that. How can you be so vile?"

"Your sister's been nothing but loyal and caring for me and your dad. You? Always messing around. You don't hold a candle to her."

Yeah, I'd never held a candle to Jane.

Guess she might as well be your only kid. I'm out.

The next morning, Jane was in my room.

Mom wasn't around to play referee, and Jane's eyes were full of nasty schemes.

"Nora, you're just too bossy, too tough. Mom hates that."

"All these years, and you still haven't learned to chill."

She was grinning like she was on top of the world, schooling me like I was the outsider who needed to shape up.

Too bad, I was spoiled rotten from the get-go, never kissing up to anyone I couldn't stand.

And I definitely didn't pull punches with people I despised. Guess she forgot I really did hit back when pushed.

I set down my glass and gave her the cold shoulder.

And I slapped her hard—payback for earlier.

Jane clutched her red, swollen cheek, glaring, "You hit me?"

I laughed, "I did. Just putting a bully in her place. Not the first time, won't be the last."

Jane was five when they brought her home.

They picked her up from some orphanage.

Mom held my hand back then, "Sweetie, you're so lonely, let Jane keep you company."

At first, I didn't mind, just another playmate.

But Jane and I? We were like oil and water—never mixed well.

We had like eight hundred tricks up our sleeves.

She had eight hundred and one, and I was one short.

At dinner, she'd stick to her veggies and bread. Mom would push her to eat more meat. She'd say, "Mom, save the meat for Nora, I'm good."

Though the platter was stacked.

People say things without thinking, but ears pick up a lot.

Mom watched her, all teary-eyed with pride, and then shifted the pork chops from my plate to Jane's.

"Learn from your sister, how thoughtful she is, not like you, always so spoiled."

"We spoiled you rotten, that's why you turned out so selfish."

I lost my appetite. I hadn't done a thing, yet here I was, the selfish one.

They kept giving me martial arts over ballet any day. I'm all about boxing and fighting.

As I was locking horns with Mom, Jane popped up.

She was at the door, twisting her shirt, whispering like a mosquito, "Mom, if Nora doesn't want to, can I go for it? I love to dance."

At that moment, Mom's face went from disappointed to delighted, "Absolutely, honey. I'll get you into the best school in the city."

"Jane's the thoughtful one, not like you, always at odds with me."

From that point on, it was all about Jane. She was considerate, kind, and had the right attitude. Mom praised her to the skies.

And me? I was stamped as the rebel, the faker, selfish, petty, and jealous.