“That’s exactly what they wanted,” I told Priya. She shook her head before asking the question that changed everything: “Why did your parents always treat your sister so differently?” I almost gave my usual answer—that Camille was simply easier to love—but then a memory from twenty years ago suddenly returned.

I was fourteen when I overheard my parents arguing in the kitchen. My father had angrily said, “She’s not even mine, and I’ve raised her like she was.” For years, I had believed he meant me. I thought I was the daughter who didn’t truly belong, and that belief explained every ballet lesson, expensive gift, and opportunity Camille received while I was overlooked. But now I realized I’d misunderstood him completely. He hadn’t been talking about the daughter he neglected. He had been talking about the daughter he spoiled. A week later, when Dad called demanding my house, I finally told him the truth I had carried for decades.