My parents always made it clear that my sister, Melissa, was their pride and joy — the golden child who could do no wrong. I, on the other hand, was the spare, the afterthought. It wasn’t just favoritism; it was a hierarchy, and I was firmly at the bottom. I learned that early and painfully. Every birthday, every holiday, every family decision revolved around Melissa. When I turned ten, I remember Mom asking Melissa what kind of cake “we” should have for my birthday. When we went on trips, the destination was whatever Melissa preferred. My opinions were background noise...
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