Chapter 2

“Your sister only wants to borrow your suitcase. Why are you being so selfish?” Mom demanded.

“You won’t even lend your own sister one thing? What kind of family acts like that?” Dad added.

“I need it.”

This time, I didn’t back down.

“Forget it. If she doesn’t want to lend it to me, she doesn’t have to.”

Chloe’s eyes turned red as she spoke from behind them, looking wounded.

Mom immediately pulled her close, and Dad began soothing her.

Ethan stared at me for a moment, then suddenly walked to his room.

He came back dragging a sky-blue suitcase behind him.

“Chloe, use this one.”

My hand tightened around the doorknob.

I had bought that suitcase for Ethan as a birthday gift.

Chloe knew it too. She made a point of looking at me.

“Are you sure? Emily might be upset.”

Ethan’s face stayed calm.

He was doing it on purpose.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut in first.

“It’s fine. I gave it to him. He can do whatever he wants with it.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Ethan turned sharply toward me, his brows drawing together.

But he didn’t say another word. He left with Chloe.

No one called me for dinner that night.

When I came out, everyone was already eating and talking animatedly about something.

“I think warm greige would look elegant without being too cold,” Mom said.

Ethan nodded. “Soft ivory would be cleaner. More modern.”

Chloe cut into a piece of roast chicken and grinned.

“You can decorate the rest of the house however you want. I’m choosing everything for my room.”

Dad wasn’t joining the discussion. He was eating happily when he caught sight of me from the corner of his eye.

He coughed.

The conversation stopped instantly.

So they had bought a new house.

And I was the only one who didn’t know.

I sat down and picked at the green beans nearest me. Every bite felt hard to swallow.

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance.

Finally, Mom spoke.

“Emily, we bought a new place. We’ve already figured out the bedrooms. You can go see it whenever you have time.”

I forced myself to swallow.

My voice came out rough.

“How long ago did you buy it?”

“Six months.”

“We just never found the right time to tell you.”

Never found the time?

Or never wanted to?

I could tell the difference.

I nodded once, then asked, “What’s the door code?”

“091604.”

091604.

Ethan’s and Chloe’s birthdays combined.

I looked up at Mom.

My lips moved before I could stop them.

“Mom, when’s my birthday?”

She froze, then frowned as if the question made no sense.

“What? You forgot your own birthday?”

Dad laughed, thinking I was serious.

“You were born in the winter. You came early. There was a snowstorm that day, and your mom slipped on the front steps. The delivery was rough. She always used to joke that you showed up determined to make her suffer.”

Mom cleared her throat. Her face changed, and she looked away.

“Why bring that up now?”

I lowered my eyes.

My hands had started trembling.

A little while later, Ethan and Chloe finished eating and left their plates on the table.

Dad walked away next.

Then Mom stood.

“Emily, you know the rule. Whoever finishes last does the dishes.”

Then she left too.

The table was covered in leftover food and dirty plates.

I was always the last one to finish.

Because no one ever called me when dinner was ready.

Mom called Ethan.

Dad called Chloe.

By the time I came out, half the food was usually gone.

So the dishes were always mine.

While I was cleaning the kitchen, Grandma and Grandpa called.

“I heard from Ethan that you’re taking Chloe to Japan?” Grandma asked.

“Yes,” Mom said. “Is there anything you want us to bring back?”

Grandma laughed and said no.

“Emily isn’t going?”

Mom answered without hesitation.

“Oh, no. She wants to work this summer and build experience.”

“That girl...” Grandpa sighed, but he didn’t ask anything else.

Because for years, Mom and Dad had given everyone versions of the same answer.

“Emily isn’t going to the amusement park with you?”

“She’d rather stay home and study.”

“Emily isn’t coming skiing?”

“She doesn’t like sports.”

“Emily isn’t in the family photos?”

“She hates having her picture taken.”

...

In the story they told everyone, I was the awkward bookworm, the loner, the girl who preferred work to fun.

That way, no one could feel sorry for me.

Because according to them, this was simply who I was.