After they returned home, they sorted through Marlon's belongings. Every year, they honored his memory this way, going through his things like a ritual.

As they rummaged through the boxes, they chatted softly to themselves.

"Look at this calligraphy Marlon did when he was six. All his teachers said he had a real gift."

"Marlon always got top grades. He never gave us any trouble."

"Even with all the pressure in eighth grade, he still helped out around the house."

"He passed his piano grade eight at just thirteen. Those long fingers of his were bound for greatness."

But they seemed to forget that I had learned everything Marlon did and even worked harder.

I remembered once, during a school event, I played a piano piece on stage, and everyone clapped for me. Even Marlon said I played well. Yet Diane only shrugged and said, "Don't get too cocky. You should learn from Marlon."

Since our school was far from home, Marlon and I both boarded there. He was two years older and had a heavier course load.

Every weekend, I waited for him to come home.

But Diane never asked me what I wanted to eat when we got back. She always prepared a feast of Marlon's favorites, regardless of what I liked.

Once I hit middle school, I took it upon myself to help out with the cleaning every weekend.

I wanted to save money on tutoring, so I studied hard, chasing after teachers for help until the sun went down, often forgetting to head back to my dorm.

There was one time I studied too late and missed the curfew. I ended up sleeping in the classroom all night, too scared to wake the teacher.

But the dorm supervisor called Diane, reporting that I, a mere child, had stayed out all night. Without even asking for my side of the story, Diane stormed into the school, berating me in front of my classmates and teachers. "What kind of girl runs around outside at night? Have you no shame? You're a student; your focus should be on your studies!"

I didn't argue because I knew she wouldn't believe me. Eventually, a teacher stepped in to explain that I'd been studying late, which was why I missed curfew.

Diane softened her tone slightly, "Well, that's just because she's not too bright! The early bird catches the worm, and Marlon wouldn't have made such a rookie mistake!"

Even when I worked hard, I faced scorn. It seemed that no matter how much I tried, there was always a reason to criticize.

Diane's favoritism was blatant, seeping into every corner of our lives.

I once witnessed a scene that stuck with me: Vincent's friend sent a few boxes of big, fresh watermelons from out of town during the winter.

Fresh fruit in winter was a rarity, especially watermelons.

Marlon and I couldn't help but drool over them.

But Diane declared, "Only those who score a hundred on their finals get to eat these."

I figured Diane thought Marlon would easily score a perfect hundred while I was always too careless to manage it.

But this time, she was wrong. Marlon scored a ninety-eight, while I miraculously got a hundred.

I was bursting with excitement over the watermelon, but Diane said, "Marlon has been working so hard in middle school; he deserves it."

Even Vincent couldn't take it anymore and interjected, "Ashley got a hundred! She should get some, too! It's just one watermelon—we can afford it."

Exactly! It wasn't some extravagant luxury, just a watermelon!

But back then, I didn't understand that Diane's actions were unfair. I remembered getting so upset when I caught her sneaking into the kitchen while I was asleep, cutting some watermelon for Marlon. I threw a fit.

When I confronted her, Diane snapped, "Marlon is working his butt off! He's burning the midnight oil studying, and I'm just giving him a few slices! What right do you have to complain?"

I couldn't find the words to respond, so I fell silent. After that day, I swore off watermelon entirely.

After they finished cleaning up Marlon's things, I noticed Vincent wrapping his arms around Diane. "Marlon's death was an accident. You can't keep blaming Ashley for it. Today is her birthday, her coming-of-age day..."

Before he could finish, Diane cut him off sharply. "You're always defending her! If it weren't for her, Marlon wouldn't have died! She's a walking disaster; anyone who crosses her path is doomed!"

Vincent froze at her words, his expression thoughtful as he stared at Diane, and then he fell silent.

A chill crept into my heart. Is this really how Mom sees me? A disaster?

Maybe she had a point.

I remembered how Vincent used to treat me so kindly.

He would sneak me out for little adventures, and after Diane yelled at me or hit me, he'd buy me medicine for my bruises.

He'd bring me pretty floral dresses to cheer me up and even let me sleep in his study so I wouldn't have to deal with Diane's wrath.

I could get a good night's sleep and avoid dozing off in class, too.

Those moments made me forget Diane's cruelty, at least for a little while.

Before Marlon passed away, Diane hadn't been this harsh. Everything fell apart because of me. I was the reason our once-happy family was now in tatters.

So, maybe calling me a disaster wasn't entirely untrue.

As the day faded into night, Vincent had already gone to bed, but I noticed Diane quietly getting up and heading into my room.

Curiosity piqued, I followed her, my mind racing with questions.

Is she planning to check for any of my things she could toss out?

But then I remembered: all my belongings were already thrown out by her.

She must have cleaned everything up a long time ago.

I watched as Diane reached into the back of my closet and pulled out a small box.

Inside were all my certificates and awards, neatly organized.

I was surprised to find something like this hidden away in my closet—I had no idea it was even there.

Most of the space in my closet was taken up by Marlon's clothes, which I rarely used.

My stuff was always crammed into a couple of battered old suitcases.

After I started middle school, Diane had declared that Marlon's things were taking up too much room, so she moved my stuff into the closet.

I had protested, "If you bought him fewer clothes and toys, wouldn't that solve the problem?"

But my protests earned me nothing but a slap from Diane.

I still remembered Vincent's pained expression as he looked at my face, gently touching my swollen cheek and scolding Diane for being too hard on me.

That was the first time I'd seen Vincent speak sternly to Diane.

Although she was a stay-at-home mom and the household relied solely on Vincent's salary, he had always been so compliant and considerate towards her.

The neighbors often envied Diane for having such a devoted husband.

But the more Vincent doted on me, the harsher Diane became.

Ever since that day she hit me, it was like a switch had flipped.

She was relentless, always scolding or striking me, leaving me with bruises that made me too self-conscious to wear shorts or skirts in the summer.