Every morning felt like a test she never studied for.
If Althea woke up late, it meant she was tired from working hard.
If Mira woke up late, it meant she was lazy.
If Althea forgot to do chores, it was understandable.
If Mira forgot, it was selfishness.
They never said they didn't love her. They just loved her differently. Or maybe less. Or maybe not at all—Mira wasn't sure anymore.
But what hurt the most were the small things.
The way her mother's tone changed when talking to Althea.
The way her father smiled wider when her sister came home.
The way relatives only asked about Althea's achievements and never even bothered to ask how Mira was.
She felt like a background character in a story she was forced to live in.
Unseen. Unheard. Unchosen.
Always second.
Always lesser.
Always the shadow.