Chapter 2

“Why?”

Leopold’s voice was hoarse. “You don’t love me anymore?”

“Lola, didn’t you say that no matter how big the obstacles, you’d never let go?”

I lowered my head, drowning in the bitterness of it.

“For as long as I can remember, I’ve never been able to go against my mom.”

Like my bedroom, the master room with all the good light.

The moment Rebecca decided she liked it, it became hers.

Or the birthday present I got once, the Elsa princess dress.

Rebecca said if I wouldn’t give it to her, she’d take scissors to it.

In the end, she got what she wanted and wore it herself.

Now it was my boyfriend, the same story all over again.

I didn’t have the strength left to fight.

“Lo, I’m not like those things.”

When Leopold saw that I’d closed my eyes, he didn’t say anything more.

“Just rest for now. I’ll come see you.”

“And I already called your mom just now. She knows you’re in the hospital.”

Not long after, my mother called.

The line was noisy, the faint clamor of a shopping mall behind her.

But sharper than that was the impatience in her voice.

“What are you pulling now?”

“I already told you, you’re not going to die, and here you are burning money on the hospital again and again. Can you not give me one bit of trouble?”

I listened in silence while she went on scolding me on the other end.

I only asked one thing, quietly.

“Mom, aren’t you afraid that one day I really will die?”

She let out a cold laugh.

“You, die? The fortune-teller said it himself, you’ll live to a hundred. You don’t die that easily.”

“Your sister’s the one with a short life. We owe her too much.”

“Nothing we do could ever make it up to her, so can you please stop competing with your sister for everything?”

“Always making a scene about wanting to die. If there’s a next time, you can get out for good!”

The call cut off abruptly, leaving only the busy dial tone.

The doctor came over and said that with the blood loss, the family needed to bring in more blood, more nutrition.

He also told me not to do anything so foolish again.

I just listened without a word.

The truth was, I didn’t really want to die.

I only wanted to test whether I really would live to a hundred, the way my mom kept saying.

But the hospital told me I’d lost too much blood, that if I hadn’t been brought in when I was, I would have died.

So it turned out I could die too.

A few minutes later, my mother sent a text.

“One more thing. The medical bills for landing yourself in the hospital this time, you sort those out yourself. Don’t come asking me.”

Then she sent a voice message right after.

“Your sister’s got her eye on a skincare set, over ten thousand for the set, and new clothes for her date, another few tens of thousands. There’s no spare money for you.”

I could hear Rebecca cooing beside her.

“Mom, hurry and hang up, I have to go try on wedding dresses.”

“Coming, coming.”

My mother hung up in a rush.

I touched the gauze on my wrist and, with a trembling hand, tapped into my mother’s social feed.

Sure enough, in that endless scroll of posts,

every single one was about Rebecca.

“My daughter Rebecca is so sweet and thoughtful, I want to record every single moment I get to spend with her.”

Not one was about me.

In the past, every time I asked, hurt, “Mom, I’m your daughter too. Why do you never post me?”

her face would go cold.

“You’re going to live to a hundred, you’ve got such a long life ahead of you. What’s there to compare with your sister?”

“My poor Rebecca, she won’t live as long as you. All I can do is give her every good thing in the time she has, so she won’t die with regrets.”

All of this, only because of one thing.

The year I was eight, my mother brought a blind fortune-teller into our home.

He felt my hand, then felt Rebecca’s.

Then he wagged his head and rattled off a whole speech.

I only remember two lines.

“Your elder daughter has an iron-hard fate. She’ll live to a hundred.”

“The younger one has a face marked by romance and misfortune, a beauty doomed to die young. She likely won’t make it past twenty.”

My mother broke down crying on the spot.

She held Rebecca and sobbed as if her heart were being torn out.

After that, everything changed.

Before, my mother had loved me more. I was the older one, sweet and obedient, good grades, a favorite with the teachers.

Rebecca was the mischievous one, and my mother had smacked her plenty.

But the moment the fortune-teller spoke, the scales tipped for good.

At ten, I was riding my bike with Rebecca on the back.

She suddenly lunged forward and clapped both hands over my eyes.

The bike and I went straight into the ditch by the road.

My forehead hit a stone. Sixteen stitches.

My mother rushed to the hospital, took one look at my blood-covered face.

“What are you being so dramatic for? You’re not going to die.”

Then she turned and saw a small scrape on Rebecca’s knee, and her eyes went red with worry.

“Oh, baby, does it hurt? Let Mommy blow on it.”

Rebecca buried herself in her arms, crying.

I sat on the hospital bed, holding the gauze against my forehead myself.

The nurse couldn’t stand it. “The child’s getting stitches, we have to give anesthetic. One of the parents needs to come over and stay with her.”

My mother still held Rebecca in her arms.

She just tossed out coldly, “My elder daughter has a hard fate. She can take it.”