I was born with a sister.
Not just a sister—but a twin.
A mirror of my soul.
Her name was Serena and mine was Sophie.
From the first moment we opened our eyes, the world seemed to notice us, two tiny cries piercing the quiet night. People would always say we were inseparable, like two halves of a single heartbeat.
Our parents adored us, and for a short while, life felt warm and safe.
But fate has a cruel sense of humor.
One evening my parents were invited to a wedding in the city that turned tragic. My parents never returned. An accident stole them from us, leaving two little girls in the cold hands of grief.
We were sent to live with our grandparents in their old massive mansion in the village. I had imagined they would love and embrace us there , that our sorrow would be soothed. But maybe I was wrong.
From the moment we arrived, it was clear who they loved more. They never said it outright. They didn't need to.
I was invisible beside Serena. Serena was praised for every smile, every achievement. My grandparents' eyes followed her as if she were a prized jewel.
And me?
I became the shadow, the silent observer, the girl whose presence barely mattered.
"Why can't you be more like your sister?" my grandmother often asked me, her voice sharp, her gaze piercing.
I learned silence then. Smiling through pain, swallowing tears, hiding my heart behind a careful mask. Yet a tiny spark lingered inside me—a stubborn flicker refusing to die.
But destiny, I later learned does not treat twins equally.
That spark would soon face its first true test, and the world was waiting to see if it could survive.
As we grew older, the divide between us widened.
Her hair was always braided, "and mine?" Always dry and tangled.
Serena was sent to elite schools, attended glittering galas, and her success waes celebrated at every turn. I went to the local school nearby, quietly I was told I wasn't as capable, as worthy as Serena. Sometimes I cried but my tears only made my eyes swollen in the morning but no one cared.
She wore silks and lace, and for me I only had a few old wrappers and tone slippers.
Serena met powerful families, and received invitations I could only dream of. I wore hand-me-downs, swept floors, fetched water in the river, and quietly watched her life flourish while mine remained small and unnoticed.
Every day, I felt the sting of comparisons.
Every success of mine was measured against Serena's brilliance and told to work hard as her.By the time we turned twenty-five, our futures had already been written.
Men came from far and wide to ask for her hand in marriage. But every time they left angry and disappointed because my grandparents had placed her bride's price so high.
But no matter how many people came they left empty handed. She remained the family's pride.
And me?
I was the shame, the burden , the mistake, the curse no one came for me, no one asked my name.
I was not allowed to eat at the table.
My room was not kept as hers.
Even worse, whenever men came for Serena and couldn't pay the bride price, my grandfather would point at me, " your money is enough for that one, you can have her."
They would laugh loudly, " who wants an ugly house girl as a wife, no thank you ." I would stand there silent, heart shattered and eyes low.
Her name alone carried admiration whenever it was spoken.
The beautiful one.
The favoured one.
She was to become the wife of William Blackwell.
He was a powerful man in the village, a man whose influence stretched far beyond the borders of our small town.
His wealth was not merely counted in money but in control over opportunities, over destinies, over people.
He did not need to raise his voice to command attention.
Authority flowed from him naturally settling into every space he occupied.
When he entered a room, conversation bent around him. When he spoke others listened. And now, he has chosen Serena.