Part 1I Was the "Adopted" Kid They Trained

I've never been one to take a loss.

If my dad, Jared Ingram, buys a cake for my sister, Harper Ingram, I'll demand to have half of it.

If my mom, Lindsay Sutton, buys a phone for my brother, Simon Ingram, I'll demand to buy a new digital tablet.

When I'm eight, my whole famy goes on a trip, and once again, they forget to buy a ticket for me.

I run out onto the main road and call the police using a passerby's phone, claiming that my parents have abandoned me.

My parents, who have only just left, are forced to turn back.

Mom is so furious that she throws my adoption papers at me. "Beth, you're adopted. What more do you want from me?"

From that day onward, I stop fighting for what I want.

To stay in this family, I try my best to please everyone.

When Simon gets in trouble, I kneel in the snow and plead for him.

When Harper doesn't want to do her homework, I stay up all night to help her finish it.

My parents work hard, so I take care of all the house chores.

When my aunt, Brianna Lane, visits us, she pulls Mom into the room and asks, "Lindsay, how did you pull this off? You gave Harper, your adopted daughter, 3,000 dollars a month, but only 300 dollars to your own daughter. Why doesn't Beth ever makes a fuss about it?"

Mom lets out an arrogant little laugh. "That's easy. I just told Beth that she was adopted. Forget giving her less money. Even if I gave her nothing at all, she'd still be grateful to me."

* * *

The fruit plate I was holding fell to the ground with a sharp clatter.

The conversation in the room halted as I bent over to pick up the scattered grapes and oranges, my hands shaking.

My mom, Lindsay Sutton's footsteps, grew closer, and she opened the door. When she noticed me squatting on the ground, her expression changed momentarily before returning to normal.

"Beth, why are you so clumsy? You can eat the ones that fell on the floor. Wash another batch and bring them over." She sounded perfectly calm, like nothing had happened at all.

I looked up at her and, for the first time, really studied her features.

My almond-shaped eyes and curved brows looked just like hers, but because I was so sure that I was adopted, I never dared to think about it that way.

My aunt, Brianna Lane, poked her head out from behind Mom. A flicker of awkwardness appeared on her face when she saw me.

I didn't say anything and walked to the living room.

When I passed the dining room, Harper Ingram was sitting there with her legs crossed, scrolling through her phone. The table was covered with expensive makeup she'd gotten from a personal shopper.

My brother, Simon Ingram, was sprawled on the couch playing games, his brand-new jacket tossed over the back of a chair.

The jacket I was wearing was still the one Brianna had bought me three years ago because she couldn't stand seeing me in my old one anymore.

I went back to the kitchen and washed another plate of fruit. I didn't eat the ones that had fallen on the floor earlier.

Since no one was in the kitchen, I ate a slice of pineapple. Fresh pineapple didn't taste like alcohol at all, and it didn't make my tongue tingle either.

I ate one piece after another, as if that could make up for all the hardship I'd gone through over the past 14 years.

When I brought the fruits to the table, Harper frowned. "Where's the pineapple? I thought Mom told you to buy it."

"They fell on the floor. There isn't any left."

"You're so useless!" Harper muttered and went back to browsing on her phone.

If this had happened in the past, I would've apologized to her immediately. But now, I merely stared at her without saying a single word.

Harper must have sensed that something was off and glanced at me. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

Then I turned and walked back to my room. I slowly slid down the door with my back against it.

For 14 whole years, from age 8 to 22, I had basically turned myself into a free maid in this house.

Once I had calmed down, I dug out the adoption paper. The folds had already yellowed, and the edges were frayed.

I had kept this paper that Mom threw in my face when I was eight all these years because I was afraid that one day, they might abandon me.

At least this paper could prove that I once had a family.

But now, this paper was the cruelest irony of all.