On the morning of my birthday, my mother pulled me into the kitchen, her eyes gleaming with a conspiratorial spark.

She whispered that Brandon, my childhood sweetheart and boyfriend of ten years, was planning to propose to me tonight. My heart gave a sudden, hopeful flutter.

I spent hours getting ready—putting on a full face of makeup, curling my hair, and wearing a dustrose dress I’d saved for a special occasion.

When I pushed open the door to the private dining room, a barrage of canned silly string exploded directly into my face. A chorus of laughter erupted instantly.

Blinking through the sticky foam, I wiped my eyes and looked up, disheveled and stinging.

My younger sister, Taylor, was smirking at Brandon, holding up her phone like a trophy. "I won!" Taylor gloated, clapping her hands. "Leah fell for it again!" Brandon let out a helpless, indulgent sigh, looking at her with fond warmth. "You brought her mom in on the bet, Taylor.

How was I supposed to stand a chance?" I stood there in the doorway, wiping sticky white strands from my lashes.

The foam was eating through my foundation, leaving pale, blotchy streaks across my cheeks. "So..." My voice sounded thin, almost hollow. "The proposal was a joke?" Brandon laughed softly and reached into his coat pocket.

He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring—the exact delicate halo cut I’d admired in a shop window months ago. "Of course not, babe," Brandon said smoothly, stepping toward me. "Taylor was just playing a quick prank.

Don't be like that." He grabbed my left hand. For a split second, a wave of warmth surged through my chest, and I extended my ring finger.

But the moment the metal slid past my knuckle, a tiny, concealed springclamp inside the band snapped shut, biting sharply into my skin. I gasped, wincing from the pain.

Over my head, Brandon caught Taylor’s eye and gave her a playful wink. "And now "I" win." Taylor pouted, crossing her arms. "Leah, you are so oblivious!

You ruined my streak." My mother chimed in with a tired scoff, shaking her head at me. "Honestly, Leah, it’s no wonder you never excelled in school—you have zero social awareness.

Look at you, making Taylor upset on your own birthday." A slow, suffocating bitterness settled over my chest.

I opened my mouth, wanting to tell them that I wasn't as oblivious as they thought. I had heard the muffled giggles behind the door before I turned the handle.

I had seen the faint seam on the ring mechanism when Brandon held it out. There were too many flaws, too many clues. I hadn't been fooled. I had simply chosen to trust them. Again.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my clutch. A notification flashed across the screen: an official email from the admissions office of a top university in London.

A fullscholarship offer for my master’s degree.

Looking at the three people laughing in front of me, I knew I couldn't stay here anymore. … I unlocked my phone, the acceptance letter glaringly visible on the screen. "I’m going abroad for grad school—" Brandon frowned, reaching out to take the phone to read it.

Before he could touch it, Taylor lunged forward and shoved my wrist aside. I was caught completely off guard.

The phone slipped from my fingers and crashed onto the hardwood floor with a sharp "clack". The corner of the screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.

My mother didn't even glance down. "Can't even hold onto a phone properly.

Whatever, it’s just some cheap offbrand thing anyway." I knelt to pick up the cracked device, my fingers trembling. I wanted to remind her.

When Taylor finished high school, Mom bought her a topoftheline laptop, a flagship phone, and an iPad without batting an eye.

But when I graduated, all I received was a cold remark: "Your old prepaid phone still works fine.

With scores like yours, don't be so dramatic." I had worked two months of backbreaking shifts at a local diner during a scorching summer just to buy this phone.

Back then, Brandon had gently taken my calloused hands, kissed my bruised knuckles, and whispered, "My Leah is so hardworking.

Someday, I’ll buy you the best phone in the world." Now, Brandon glanced at the broken glass with indifference. "Taylor’s just clumsy, Leah. She didn't mean it.

Don't make a scene over a phone." I hadn't even uttered a single word. Taylor handed me a paper napkin with a sugary smile. "Here, Leah, clean yourself up.

Brandon didn't book this fancy restaurant for nothing—he really wanted to celebrate your birthday." My chest tightened.

Brandon took the napkin from Taylor and began gently wiping the silly string off my jawline. "Did you really think I forgot your birthday, Leah?" he asked softly, his tone full of familiar affection.

I kept my eyes lowered, saying nothing. Taylor’s birthday fell just three days after mine. Somewhere along the line, my separate birthday had been merged into hers.

And the date chosen was always Taylor’s. Whenever I questioned it, Mom would snap, "I just picked a random day! Why do you have to be so petty?

As the older sister, learn to be generous." But if it was truly random, why was it always Taylor's day?

I remembered back in high school, when Brandon showed up at my front step holding a small, slightly squished cupcake with a single burning candle.

It was my actual birthday, a day I had almost forgotten myself. The teenage boy had laughed, gently tapping the tip of my nose. "You silly girl, how do you forget your own birthday?

Fine, I’ll celebrate it with you every single year. You won't forget it then." The waiter began serving an array of exquisite dishes.

Brandon casually ladled a bowl of rich, velvety soup and placed it in front of me.

Remembering how he had kept that promise over the years, a sudden warmthpricked at the backs of my eyes. I bowed my head and took a spoon of the soup to hide my expression.

But the moment the liquid hit my tongue, a deep, prickling itch spread down my throat. Panicked, I looked up—only to see Taylor covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently.

When she saw me staring, she broke into unrestrained hysterics. Confused, I turned to Brandon.

He chuckled, reaching into his blazer pocket to hand me a blister pack of antihistamines. "It's seafood bisque," Brandon said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Taylor specifically had the chef mask the aroma so you wouldn't smell the shellfish.

Good, right?" I froze, the room tilting around me. Brandon knew. He knew better than anyone that I had a lifethreatening seafood allergy.

When I was eighteen, I accidentally consumed a spoonful of clam chowder.

I broke out in severe hives within minutes, my throat swelling so rapidly I had to be rushed to the emergency room.

After the doctors stabilized me, Brandon had sat by my hospital bed with bloodshot eyes, gripping my hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Leah, I failed to protect you.

From now on, I will never let you take a risk like that again." Since that day, he had scrutinized every menu, questioned every server, and protected me without fail. Until today.

I stared at him, utterly numb. Brandon shifted under my gaze, biting his lip and looking away. "Don't make a big deal out of it, Leah.

Taylor was just having a little fun." Taylor laughed so hard tears streamed down her cheeks. "Oh my god, Leah, you are so gullible! You fall for everything.

This is hilarious!" In complete silence, I popped two allergy pills out of the foil and swallowed them dry. The bitter medicine scratched against my swelling throat.

A flood of memories washed over me. Their pranks had been escalating for a long time. When Brandon first met Taylor, they hadn't gotten along.

Every family gathering involved sharp remarks and hostile banter between them. Brandon used to pull me aside, whispering angrily, "You two are biological sisters.

Why does your mother treat you like a secondclass citizen while putting Taylor on a pedestal?" Then, imperceptibly, things began to shift.

One evening, while Brandon was drying my hair after a rainstorm, his smile seemed distant. "You know, Leah, I actually think your sister is pretty entertaining once you get to know her." My heart had skipped a beat, but before I could ask what he meant, the loud blow of the hairdryer drowned out the quiet.

The next morning, I woke up to find my hair matted into sticky, unmanageable clumps.

I cried frantically in front of the mirror, while Brandon stood in the doorway, laughing until he could barely breathe. "It's a special holding gel Taylor bought," he said, pulling out his phone to snap a photo of my distress. "I rubbed it in while drying your hair last night.

She said you’re so rigid and serious, your reaction to being pranked would be gold. She was right, you look kind of cute." My heart had turned cold, piece by piece.

Within minutes, Taylor’s shrill laughter echoed from the speaker of his phone as he sent her the picture. I was forced to cut my long hair into a jagged bob that day.

And that was only the beginning. Fake insects in my water glass. Hot pepper extract sneaked into my moisturizer.

And now, even a marriage proposal—the moment I had dreamed about for years—was reduced to a punchline for their amusement.

The medication kicked in, gradually soothing the tightness in my airway.

But the chill inside my chest spread until my whole body felt hollow. "So," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Your pranks have reached the point where you don't even care if I end up in the hospital?" The laughter faded slightly.

My mother glared at me, her brow furrowed in annoyance. "Oh, stop being so dramatic, Leah!

An allergy flareup isn't lethal, and besides, he had the medicine right there for you, didn't he?" I didn't argue with her. I turned my eyes to Brandon.

I remembered when my family received a compensation payout from a government land buyout years ago.

Mom immediately put the deed to the newly allocated condo under Taylor’s name, handing me a meager thousand dollars. "Your sister is younger, and a girl needs a safety net.

Don't throw a fit." When Brandon found out, he said nothing to my family.

Instead, he secretly pooled his savings and bought a small studio apartment downtown, putting my name on the title. On our seventh anniversary, he presented me with the keys.

He had kissed my forehead, smiling warmth into my life: "Your mom was right about one thing—a woman needs her own place. This is your security, Leah.

Nobody can ever take it from you." Now, that same man avoided my gaze entirely. "Leah, you're perfectly fine," Brandon said softly, though his tone was flat. "Don't ruin the night." Something inside me snapped—a final, delicate thread giving way.

I offered a faint, bitter smile, tapped open my cracked phone screen, and brought up the London offer email. My finger hovered over the blue "Confirm Acceptance" button.

Ten thousand miles felt like the exact distance I needed between Brandon and myself.

Before I could tap the screen, Taylor snatched the phone right out of my hand. "Leah, why are you staring at your phone all night?" she sneered. "Did you find a secret boyfriend or something?

Ha! Let me see!" "Give it back!" I gasped, scrambling up from my chair to grab it.

Taylor dodged my reach, her eyes widening as she read the screen. "An unconditional offer for a master's degree in London?

Leah, when on earth did you apply for this?" Brandon froze. The faint smile vanished from his lips as he stared at me. "Is that real, Leah?

Why wouldn't you tell me?" Taylor scoffed loudly, cutting him off. "Please! You're about to marry Brandon, and you're pulling this dramatic stunt?

Do you actually think you're the main character in some tragic romance, waiting for Brandon to chase you across the ocean?

Get over yourself!" Hearing Taylor's words, the brief flicker of worry in Brandon's eyes hardened into cold irritation. "Leah," Brandon said, his voice dropping an octave. "Is this really how little you value our relationship?" Without waiting for my response, Taylor sneered, "I'll just reject it for you so you can stop playing games!" Her thumb moved toward the screen to hit "Decline".

Panic surged through me. "Don't touch that!" I shouted. I lunged forward to stop her, but Taylor smiled triumphantly and turned the shattered screen toward my face. "Too late!

I already clicked decline!" I stopped dead in my tracks. The blood in my veins felt like ice. A raw, uncontrollable rage surged up inside me.

I gritted my teeth, lifting my hand to slap the smug grin right off Taylor's face. Before my palm could land, a harsh grip slammed onto my wrist, wrenching me backward.

Taylor stumbled back, putting on a show of wideeyed horror. "You were actually going to hit me?" The next second, Taylor raised her hand and delivered a hard, stinging blow directly across my cheek. "SLAP!" The sharp crack echoed off the walls.

My head snapped to the side, my skin instantly burning with pain. Brandon let go of my wrist.

A fleeting flicker of guilt passed over his face, but he quickly smoothed it over. "Leah, you were out of line trying to hit her. Taylor just reacted out of selfdefense.

She didn't mean it." I raised a trembling hand to touch my swollen cheek. My mind flashed back to high school.

Because Brandon and I were dating, I had angered a group of popular girls who had crushes on him. One afternoon, they cornered me in an alley behind the bleachers.

Just as I felt utterly hopeless, Brandon had come sprinting around the corner, breathing heavily, and threw himself in front of me.

He took several punches to protect me that day, leaving his face bruised and swollen.

Afterward, he had gently cupped my cheeks, his thumbs wiping my tears. "As long as you're okay, Leah.

As long as I'm here, I'll never let anyone hurt you." Now, Brandon asked the waiter for a bag of crushed ice and carefully pressed it against my burning face. "It's fine, the swelling will go down quickly.

Taylor's built like a kitten; she couldn't hit hard if she tried." My mother pointed a finger at my face, her voice sharp with anger. "Always creating drama!

Do you have any idea how much it costs to study abroad?

The family doesn't have money for your vanity projects!" I lowered my eyes, the bitter cold of the ice pack soaking into my skin. It matched the chill in my heart.

For the first time in my life, I didn't back down. "I don't need family money," I said, my tone eerily calm. "It’s a fullscholarship offer.

Tuition is completely waived, and as for living expenses, I saved enough from my own freelance work." Mom caught her breath, momentarily rendered speechless.

Throughout my college years, she had never given me a single cent, completely oblivious to how I survived. "You went to a community college," Mom sneered, recovering her footing. "What kind of future do you think you have?

You should be giving that money to your sister instead of wasting it!" For a fleeting second, a foolish part of me wondered if my mother would ever feel a shred of pride in what I had achieved on my own.

The next second, her hand swung out, slapping me across my other cheek with terrifying force. "You ungrateful brat!" she yelled. "How could you earn that much money on your own?

Did you go out and find some rich old man to sponsor you? Answer me! Is this how you repay Brandon?!" I gasped, my eyes darting instantly to Brandon.

Over the past four years, he had witnessed every latenight freelance design project I took on, every tear I shed over difficult clients, and every meal I skipped to save money.

He knew every drop of sweat I had put into building my savings.

He used to hold me during those late nights, whispering with genuine heartache, "Leah, you don't have to push yourself so hard.

You have me." Now, Brandon looked at my mother, his expression completely unbothered. "Leah, your mother is just looking out for you.

Stop being so stubborn." The shock hit me like a physical weight.

He reached over, tapping my hand reassuringly, unaware of the destruction his words were causing. "You don't need to prove anything to anyone.

Besides, academics were never your strength.

Studying abroad at a elite university would just overwhelm you." The gentle tone in his voice was so familiar, yet the words coming out of his mouth were colder than ice. "Isn't it better to stay here with us?

We can get married in a couple of years. That way, Taylor and I will be real family, too." The surreal absurdity of the moment washed over me.

The man sitting beside me—the man I had loved for over a decade—looked like a complete stranger. Something deep within me broke cleanly in two.

My voice trembled as I spoke: "Brandon... let's break up." Before I could finish my sentence, Taylor let out a sharp gasp, effectively drowning out my words.

Brandon and my mother instantly snapped their attention toward her. "What happened, sweetie?" Taylor pouted, holding up her index finger. "Her stupid broken phone screen had a sharp edge.

It cut me!" She displayed a microscopic, barely visible scratch, her tone dripping with dramatic distress. "Brandon, look at what your girlfriend's cheap trash did to me.

Blow on it, it hurts!" Brandon’s face filled with immediate concern. He signaled the waiter for a bandage, carefully wrapping her tiny scratch with meticulous delicacy.

A memory flashed into my mind. Last winter, I had suffered a severe fever of 103 degrees while alone at home. I had called Brandon eighteen times. Not a single call was answered.

By the time an ambulance brought me to the hospital, Brandon had finally sent a brief, threesecond voice note: "I’m stuck at work.

Drink some water and rest." When I was burning with fever, he told me to drink water. When Taylor had a microscopic scratch, he treated it like a medical emergency.

A profound exhaustion settled into my bones. "I need to use the restroom," I said quietly, standing up from the table. Once I stepped into the quiet hallway, I pulled out my phone.

My heart thudded in my chest as I pulled up the London admissions portal.

Because of the spotty cell service inside the restaurant, Taylor’s attempt to decline the offer had failed due to a network timeout. The acceptance page was still active.

My thumb hovered over the "Confirm" button.

Just as I was about to tap it, my mother’s voice drifted through the partially open door of our private dining room. "Why is she suddenly set on studying abroad?" Mom sighed. "She didn't find out about what happened back then, did she?" I froze in the hallway, my body acting on instinct as I stepped closer to the gap in the door.

Taylor’s spoiled voice floated out. "Well, it’s Leah's own fault! Who told her to get such a high score on her SATs back then?

I wasn't about to let her outshine me and make me look bad!" My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I remembered my senior year of high school.

I had studied until my eyes bled, pushing myself to the absolute brink. I was confident I had done exceptionally well on the state finals.

But when the official transcript arrived, my score was abysmal—barely enough for a local community college. It was lower than any practice exam I had ever taken.

When I begged to file for a score review, my mother had slammed the door in my face. "You were never smart, Leah! Stop being so delusional. High school is enough for you.

Go find a factory job!" Heartbroken, I had enrolled in community college anyway, paying every cent of my tuition through grueling parttime work.

Inside the room, my mother sighed again. "Still, we have to hand it to Brandon.

His idea was brilliant." "He knew Leah wouldn't give up unless she thought it was official," Mom continued. "Photoshopping that official score report was the only way to make her accept reality." I turned to ice where I stood. "No.

That’s impossible." That year, Brandon watched me study under the desk lamp night after night. He knew how desperately I wanted to get into a good university.

He spent hours tutoring me after class. We had promised each other we would attend the same college. Then, Brandon’s light chuckle echoed from inside the room.

His tone was as gentle as ever. "Taylor has always been competitive," Brandon said softly. "If she scored lower than Leah, it would have crushed her confidence before her own exams." He paused, adding with a casual dismissal, "Leah’s fine.

She’s always been slow anyway. She’s used to disappointing results." "Anyway, why is she taking so long in the bathroom?

Let me go check on her..." The door swung open with a soft creak.

Brandon stepped out, his eyes landing directly on me as I stood in the corridor, tears streaming silently down my face.

The smile froze on his face, his pupils shrinking in absolute terror.