My mother is a parenting influencer with over ten million followers. Her bio reads: "Mother of two exceptional girls.

Believer in gentle, present parenting." In her videos, she documents how my older sister, Mallory, practices flawless selfdiscipline through "coregulation," and how my younger sister, Mia, is being nurtured into a child prodigy.

But I have never once appeared in her frame. When I was little, I wanted nothing more than to stand beside her in just one video.

She had glanced at my faded, handmedown school hoodie, her brow furrowing. "You're too quiet, Gill. And you don't translate well on camera.

Don't ruin the aesthetic." Over the years, she never showed up to a single one of my parentteacher conferences.

She was terrified the world would find out she had another daughter—one she couldn't show off.

On my college graduation day, I was awarded Summa Cum Laude—the outstanding graduate of my department.

Clutching my leatherbound certificate, I called her, begging her to come to campus just this once to see me. She said she was too busy.

Yet that very night, she hosted a massive celebration party for Mia. I rushed over, desperate to show her my degree.

At the venue, a family friend noticed me and asked, "Oh, is this your other daughter?" My mother’s smile froze. She waved her hand dismissively, laughing it off. "No, no.

Just a distant relative's kid, tagalong." Then she leaned in close, her voice a sharp whisper: "You look so frayed and plain.

Stay out of the shots." Standing outside the ring of light, hugging my certificate to my chest, I realized how pathetic I was.

That night, I formally accepted the study abroad exchange program in London.

Since her life’s narrative only had room for two children, it was time for me to vanish from her frame entirely. …… When I got back to the house, it was completely dark.

The living room drapes weren't fully closed, letting a thin sliver of amber streetlamp bleed through the gap. I didn't turn on the lights.

I just sat on the edge of the sofa, hugging my leatherbound degree certificate. The sharp, embossed corners pressed hard against my wrist, leaving a dull ache, but I didn't let go.

During the ceremony, when the dean handed it to me, the applause had been deafening. At that moment, all I wanted was for my mother to see it.

Even if she only looked at it and said, "Not bad." So I sat there in the dark, waiting.

I waited until my legs grew numb, until the goldstamped letters left a deep red imprint in my palms. Finally, the sound of bright, echoing laughter drifted from the driveway.

My mother's voice was always the loudest. "Mia, sweetheart, you did so well today.

Your camera presence is getting so natural." My older sister, Mallory, chimed in. "The comments are going to be flooded with people praising your parenting style, Mom." Mia giggled. "Mom, did I take too much of the spotlight from Mallory today?" My mother coaxed her gently. "Silly girl.

You're both my absolute pride and joy." The front door swung open, and the lights flooded the room. I winced, blinking against the sudden brightness.

When my mother saw me, the warmth evaporated from her face. "Gill?

What are you doing sitting here in the dark?" She scoffed. "No wonder your personality is so cold and gloomy." My throat tightened.

Her eyes drifted down to the certificate in my arms. "Didn't I tell you?" she snapped. "Keep out of the shots at those events. But no, you just had to pull focus.

Are you that desperate to let everyone know you exist in this family?" My fingers clenched, the paper cutting into my skin. "I just wanted to show you," I whispered. "I'm successful too." My mother let out a dry, bitter laugh. "You're always so calculated, Gill.

You knew tonight was Mia's celebration, and yet you had to try and steal her spotlight." I held out the certificate. "I graduated Summa Cum Laude.

Only six students in the entire department got this." She glanced at it, then tossed it carelessly onto the pile of discarded cardboard and wrapping paper from Mia's gifts by the coffee table.

The corner of the certificate struck a box and bent. "Is this little thing really worth bragging about?" she said. "Does it even pay the bills?" A sharp, stinging burn rushed up my nose.

I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let the tears fall.

Mia blinked her wide, innocent eyes. "Gill, is that thing really that important?" I stared at my degree lying in the trash pile like a piece of worthless scrap paper.

The thing I had worked myself to the bone for over the last four years, just so my mother would look at me. Now it sat among torn ribbons, treated like garbage.

Mallory held up her phone. "Mom, I saw this gorgeous Miu Miu bag online." She didn't even look in my direction as she spoke. "I can style it for our next vlog." My mother took the phone, her voice softening instantly. "Add it to the cart." Then she turned to Mia. "Let's get one for Mia too.

Sister bags. It'll look perfect on camera." I looked down at my own backpack. I had carried it for ten years.

The canvas straps were frayed, and the zipper had broken twice, held together by a safety pin.

Clutching the worn strap, my voice was barely audible. "Mom... can I get a new backpack? Just a cheap one. Twenty bucks." The living room fell dead silent.

My mother’s eyebrows knitted together. "What do you need a new backpack for?" she asked, her tone dripping with annoyance. "You don’t even go on camera.

Who are you trying to impress? Besides, you're naturally plain anyway. It's not going to make a difference." My face burned with humiliation.

I hung my head, my fingernails digging into the split seams of my backpack strap.

Mallory finally looked at me, her eyes sweeping over my old bag down to my scuffed shoes before quickly turning away. "Gill, Mom had a really exhausting day.

Stop making things difficult." Mia added in her soft, sweet voice, "Yeah, Gill. Don't ruin Mom's mood over a bag." My vocal cords felt frozen.

I wanted to scream that the cost of their designer bags could buy a lifetime of my backpacks. I wanted to tell them I wasn't trying to make trouble.

But under the weight of their cold, dismissive glares, the words died in my throat.

After they went upstairs, I knelt by the trash pile and pulled my certificate out from the cardboard boxes. The corner was permanently creased.

I tried pressing it flat with my fingers, over and over, but the scar remained.

I took a picture of the degree and posted it in the family group chat. "Gill Keller awarded Summa Cum Laude." The group chat remained silent for a long time.

Ten minutes later, my aunt replied: "I saw Mia's celebration video today!

She looks absolutely stunning." My mother replied almost instantly: "Mallory and Mia are both such exceptional girls." Within seconds, the screen flooded with heart emojis and compliments.

My message was swallowed up, pushed entirely out of sight. I put my phone down and pulled out an old sketchbook from the very bottom of my desk drawer.

Inside was a drawing from when I was a child. It was a drawing of my mother standing in front of a camera, holding my hand.

Beside it, in messy, childish handwriting, was a caption: "Hi everyone, this is my daughter, Gill." I had written those words dozens of times back then.

I was so terrified that when the day finally came for my mother to introduce me to her audience, she would forget her lines. I gripped the page until the paper crumpled.

Then, I closed the sketchbook. If she was never going to introduce me, I would have to find my own way into the light.

The next morning, I was jarred awake by the screech of a power drill. My bedroom door was wide open. Two construction workers stood in the doorway, tools in hand.

I was still in my pajamas, my hair messy and stuck to my face. As the blanket slipped down to my waist, I scrambled to pull it up, shielding myself.

My mother stood right behind them, her face completely indifferent. "This room gets the best natural light," she said. "We're turning it into a shooting corner.

Move your stuff to the study today." I froze. "The study doesn't have any windows." My mother frowned. "You don't do oncamera work.

Why do you need good lighting?" Before I could protest, the workers were already lifting my desk. They pulled open the drawers, and my sketchbooks tumbled out onto the floor.

All those childhood drawings of my mother were swept mercilessly into a black trash bag. I lunged forward to grab them, my knee slamming hard against the metal bedframe.

A wave of blinding pain washed over me. Mallory picked up one of the stray sketches, flipped through a couple of pages, and let out a soft chuckle. "Wow, Gill.

You really lived in a fantasy world back then, didn't you?" My mother’s face grew colder. "No wonder you're always trying to sneak into the background of my videos." Mia pulled a paper bag from the bottom of my closet. "What's this?" she asked.

My heart stopped. It was a new blue dress. I had saved up my allowance for three months to buy it, and the tags were still attached. My mother snapped the dress and shook it open.

The soft, pale blue fabric draped elegantly in the air. "So you did have hidden motives," my mother sneered. "Who were you planning to dress up for?

Trying to steal someone's spotlight?" I reached out to grab it. "Give it back." My mother sidestepped me effortlessly and handed the dress to Mia. "Mia, try this on.

Your skin is pale; it'll look beautiful on camera." My hand remained frozen in midair.

My fingers were still curled in the shape of grasping the dress, but they only held cold, empty air. But before I could lower my arm, Mallory’s phone chimed.

She looked down at the screen, and the smug smile faded from her lips. "Mom," she said, her voice dropping. "Someone in the comments of yesterday's video is asking who that girl in the corner was.

They're saying... 'Wait, I thought you only had two daughters?'" The air in the room instantly turned to ice. My mother slowly turned her head to look down at me.

The next second, her hand swung. The slap was so hard my ears rang, and the left side of my face went entirely numb. "Was it you?" she hissed.

I held my burning cheek, tasting copper in my mouth. "No." My father walked into the room, his face dark with anger. "Who else could it be but you?" Mallory thrust her phone right in front of my face. "You just posted your little certificate yesterday, and suddenly today the comments are blowing up.

Gill, do you seriously think we're stupid?" Mia clutched the blue dress to her chest, her eyes welling with tears. "Gill... I worked so hard to get people to like me.

Why do you have to ruin it?" I shook my head violently, tears finally spilling over. "It wasn't me! I swear, I didn't do anything!" My mother snatched my phone right out of my hand.

I tried to lunge for it, but my father pinned my shoulders down. His grip was so tight it felt like my bones were going to shatter.

Tears and mucus smeared across my face, but I didn't even have a hand free to wipe them away. My mother opened my messages.

From my college classmates to my roommates, even my professor’s assistant.

Using my account, she began typing and sending messages to every single contact: "Please don't contact me anymore." "We are not friends." "Blocking you." I watched those chat bubbles go dark, one by one.

My head felt like it was going to explode. "No! Stop!" I screamed, my voice cracking into a desperate shriek. "Those are my friends!

You can't say that to them!" I screamed until my throat bled, my entire body shaking with rage and terror. But nobody stopped.

Mallory helped block them, her fingers moving lightning fast over the screen. Finally, my mother threw the phone back onto my chest. "You don't need a social life anyway.

It just gives you opportunities to talk too much. Get out and think about what you've done." By the time the front door slammed shut behind me, the rain had started to pour.

I stood on the sidewalk in my pajamas, the fabric clinging to my shivering frame. The rain pelted my phone screen, and I wiped it desperately with my wet sleeve.

Tears mixed with rainwater, running into the corners of my mouth, tasting bitter and salty. But I couldn't accept this.

With trembling fingers, I tapped into the comment section of the viral video. Someone had posted a screenshot of the source of the rumor. It was a leaked chat log.

The profile picture belonged to Mia. "My sister dressed like a total peasant today and insisted on bringing her degree to force her way into the shot.

My mom said she's not allowed in the videos because she ruins our family brand." My heart seized. I could barely breathe. I pressed down on the image to save it.

The next second, the screen went blank. "This content has been deleted." Rainwater dripped from my hair.

In the window of the house above, the lights were warm and bright, and the faint sound of their laughter drifted down to the street.

I clutched the phone to my chest, my body shaking uncontrollably. And yet, I realized with a sickening wave of dread, I had absolutely nowhere to go. The rain only grew heavier.

I sat huddled outside a convenience store, water dripping from my hair. A little girl standing next to me tilted her umbrella slightly over my head.

She looked up at her mother. "Mommy, where is this girl's mommy? Why isn't she holding an umbrella for her?" I froze, my hand flying to wipe my eyes.

But my skin was already drenched, and the gesture only smeared more water across my face. "This girl doesn't have a mother," I whispered. The little girl's mother gasped softly.

Without a word, she gently pressed the umbrella handle into my hand. The plastic handle was still warm from her grip. I held onto it, but my hand only shook harder.

My phone screen lit up again.

The university forum had a new thread pinned to the top of the homepage: "Summa Cum Laude Gill Keller looks down on her classmates?" "She apparently thinks the school didn't promote her enough and claims they owe her." "What an ungrateful brat.

The school literally gave her the highest honors, and she’s still crying about it." I stared at the word "ungrateful," gasping for air as if I were drowning. I wanted to explain.

I dialed my roommate's number. First call: "Busy." Second call: "The user you are trying to reach is unavailable." I tried sending friend requests back.

My fingers were shaking so violently I couldn't type the words right. "I didn't say those things." "It wasn't me." "I don't look down on you guys." Over and over. Nothing.

No response. The rain drummed against the plastic umbrella, a deafening, relentless roar. I forced myself up and began to run toward campus.

My cheap slippers splashed into puddles, cold water spraying up my calves.

When I finally reached the dorm building, the security guard stopped me at the door. "Miss, you can't come in looking like this." I pounded on the glass door, my voice cracked and raw. "Please, let me in!

I swear I didn't write those messages!" Students passing by stopped to stare. Someone whispered, "Is that her?

The girl from the forum?" "She looks completely unhinged." My body went stiff. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

Just then, my roommate, Hannah, ran out of the building. "Gill?" She immediately took off her dry jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders.

The warmth of the fabric hit my skin, and the tears finally broke through.

Another roommate, standing behind her, whispered, "Let's get her inside and changed first." I grabbed their sleeves, desperate. "Do you believe me?" Hannah was silent for a long moment. "I don't know what to think," she said softly. "But...

I know you. You've never been that kind of person." Those words, though quiet, made my knees buckle. I sank straight onto the linoleum floor.

I had just changed into dry clothes when my mother's call came through. Her voice was sharp with impatience. "Have you thrown enough of a tantrum yet?" "Get back here.

Mia has a shoot and needs some material." I clenched my jaw, my voice trembling. "I'm not coming back." Mia's voice drifted from the background. "Gill, please, I really need you.

Your writing is always so creative.

If you come back and finish this script, I'll convince Mom to let you sleep in your room." "Sleep in my room." But my passport and exchange documents were still in that house.

I closed my eyes, tears slipping silently down my cheeks, my fingertips cold. "Okay," I said. When I walked through the door, I didn't even take off my shoes.

My mother pushed her laptop toward me. "Get to writing." I sat at the kitchen table.

My hands were swollen and bruised from the cold, and every keystroke sent a dull throb through my knuckles. Behind me, they chatted happily about lighting setups and makeup.

No one asked if I was okay. At 1:00 AM, the script was finished. I rewrote the final line three times before hitting save. The next afternoon, the video was uploaded.

Mallory sat in front of the camera, smiling warmly. "This is a little story I wrote for Mia." Mia wore my pale blue dress, laughing brightly for the lens.

The comments flooded in: "Mallory is so talented!" "Mia is gorgeous." "Dr.

Cynthia Keller really knows how to raise brilliant children." I sat in the windowless study, watching the screen. My stomach twisted into painful knots.

I wanted to throw up, but there was nothing left inside me.

Later that day, Hannah and my other roommates posted a clarification on the campus forum. "Gill Keller didn't write those messages," they wrote. "Her family took her phone and blocked us using her account." I sat on my dorm bed, staring at the screen, my fingers slowly curling into fists.

That afternoon, the study abroad director called me. "Gill Keller?

Your exchange slot has been officially approved." "Your materials are perfect, and the stipend has been cleared." "You are free to prepare for departure." I held the phone close to my ear, leaning my back against the dorm door.

The screen went dark. The room was so quiet I could hear the steady beat of my own heart. One. Two. I closed my eyes, my throat tight.

I had finally made it out, yet the tears kept falling. After a long silence, I whispered, "Thank you, professor." Hannah slid a paper bag into my hands.

Inside was a brandnew gray backpack. "Stop carrying that old, broken thing," she said, looking away to hide her own watery eyes. "Go to London and live your life." I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly.

The paper bag crinkled loudly between us.

I buried my face in her shoulder, my voice thick. "Thank you." When I went back to the house to gather the rest of my things, the living room was crowded with lighting rigs and tripods.

The moment Mia saw me, she ran over with a bright, performative smile and grabbed my arm. "Gill!

You're back just in time!" "We need you to costar in this episode!" I froze, my chest fluttering with a tiny, pathetic spark of hope.

For a fleeting second, I thought my mother was finally willing to let me be in her videos.

But then my mother looked up from the monitor. "Don't wear those clothes," she said flatly. "Go find something older. Something ragged." The warmth in my face drained completely.

Mallory walked over, holding the script, her expression indifferent. "You're playing a girl from a poor, rural family we've been sponsoring," she explained. "You came to thank us for paying your tuition." I clutched the paper bag with my new backpack. "I am your family," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

My mother’s face instantly darkened. "Gill, are you doing this again?" she hissed. "It's just one scene.

Do you have to turn everything into a personal crisis?" I stood my ground, refusing to move. My mother stepped forward, her hand swinging.

The slap sent my head spinning, and my ears began to ring.

Mallory frowned, snatching the paper bag from my hands. "What is this?" She pulled out the new gray backpack, her eyes filling with disgust.

She threw the bag onto the floor and stepped directly onto it, grinding her shoe into the clean fabric. I bent down to grab it, but she shoved me back. "Just get in position.

Stop wasting everyone's time." My knee collided sharply with the corner of the coffee table, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

Mia stood under the bright studio lights, clutching my blue dress to her chest, her eyes wide and tearful. "Gill, please just do this for me.

Once we finish, Mom won't be mad anymore." I slowly stood up. I pressed my palm against my scraped knee and felt something wet. I didn't know if it was water or blood.

The camera started rolling. My mother barked from behind the lens, "Look natural. Smile." I stared into the black lens of the camera. Slowly, the corners of my mouth curled upward.

My mouth tasted like copper. "Thank you so much for sponsoring my education, Mrs.

Keller," I said, the words heavy and hollow. "I will always remember your family's kindness." The moment the director yelled cut, everyone let out a sigh of relief.

Mallory excelled at spinning the narrative. "Honestly, her awkwardness made it feel so authentic." I knelt down and picked up my new backpack.

There was a dirty footprint stamped onto the gray fabric.

Before dinner, my mother dragged her suitcase into the hallway. "A brand partner sponsored a family trip," she announced. "We're flying out to Hawaii tomorrow for a threeday shoot." Mia squealed with joy.

My father clapped his hand onto my shoulder. "You stay behind.

You can use the time to clean the house." My mother tossed a stack of papers onto the dining table. "Here is the script outline for the second part," she said. "Have it finished by the time we get back." Once the front door clicked shut, the house fell into a deafening silence, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator.

I stood there for a long time. Then, I walked into my room. One by one, I packed my passport, my ID, and my study abroad acceptance letter into my suitcase.

Before leaving, I laid my house keys quietly on the shoe rack. My phone buzzed. A message from my mother: "Make sure you mop the living room floors." "And don't write a lazy script.

Don't ruin your sister's channel engagement." I stared at the two lines of text. My thumb hovered over the screen for a few seconds. Then, I powered the phone off.

The slap on my cheek still throbbed with a dull heat. But for the very first time in my life, the crushing weight in my chest lifted.

I gripped the strap of my new backpack and walked out the door. I didn't look back.