The world is just a giant, chaotic simulation run by unpaid interns. And I am the glitch. My dad is a Wall Street shark. I, however, still struggle with splitting the bill at dinner. My mom is an Oscar-winning actress. I look like an NPC in the background of her life. My brother curated his own art exhibition at four years old. At five, I was still eating paste and drooling. Even our housekeeper, Martha, and the butler, Alfred, are retired special ops or hidden geniuses. Luckily, they all spoil me rotten. I had made peace with my mediocrity... Until one day, a viral "Genius Girl" knocked on our door, demanding I vacate her spot as the real heiress. Great. The other shoe I’ve been waiting for my whole life has finally dropped. Chapter 1 I’ve always felt like a glitch in this family’s matrix. Dad is a financial tycoon. Mom is Hollywood royalty. Me? Average brain, average face. They say nature seeks balance. My brother, Julian, is the result of hoarding all the talent. Art prodigy at four, MIT at fifteen, and a permanent fixture on the "Most Handsome Faces" global list. I wanted to be jealous. I wanted to be a villain. I wanted to crawl around in the dark like a goblin. But I chose to make peace with myself. After all, you can’t win the genetic lottery twice in a row. I was living my best life, rotting in bed... Until the internet-famous Genius Girl showed up. "The nurse in the delivery room confessed! We were switched at birth! I am the real Sterling daughter!" "You’re so basic! How could you possibly be their daughter?" "Today, I’m taking back everything that belongs to me!" Tiffany stormed in alone, but she carried the energy of a SWAT team. Her confidence was so overwhelming that my family—sorry, me and the other family of three—fell into deep contemplation. Dad, looking up from his tablet: "Switched?" Mom, checking her manicure: "How would I know? I was too busy counting my stretch marks. Wasn't the baby handed to Julian?" Julian, my stoic brother, paused for three seconds before delivering a cold fact: "I was three years old." Mom paused, then tried to deflect the blame again. "But you loved holding the baby! You kept asking if you could share your new toy with your little girlfriend, Avery." "Avery wasn't my girlfriend." "But she called me 'Mommy' every time she saw me..." I sat there, sweating bullets. Tiffany didn't look too happy either. Seeing Mom and Julian drift off-topic, I stood up to interrupt. "Dad, Mom, Julian, look at my face. Then look at hers. Don't we look more like a family?" She pointed at me, slumped on the sofa. I touched my plain face and nodded in agreement. Growing up, the compliments Julian received included, but were not limited to: "Dashing," "Stunning," "A carbon copy of his father." For me? It was always: "She looks... healthy." Depressing. "Also, I’ve been a straight-A student my whole life! But her? She’s been dead last since kindergarten. She even bought her college degree!" Tiffany continued to present her evidence. I lowered my head in shame. Since school started, Julian was always the Valedictorian. I was always the cautionary tale. My tutor didn't believe in failure. She gave me private lessons until she suffered a stress-induced stroke and ended up in the ICU. In her delirium, she held my hand, whispering: "What... do the numbers mean... Avery... what do they mean?" I felt guilty. So, the night before the next exam, I pulled an all-nighter and memorized the entire math textbook. The next day, I became a campus legend for filling the entire exam sheet with formulas and getting a score of zero. Thinking back on this, I looked at my parents and brother with a heavy heart. "Is it possible... that you guys really are related?" Mom and Dad fell into deep thought. Julian looked solemn. Tiffany was still screaming: "Mom! Dad! Don't you believe me? I've been suffering alone for eighteen years! How can you not believe me?" Just as the atmosphere reached a boiling point, Martha, who had been standing in the shadows, spoke up: "Sir, Madam... there is this technology called a DNA test." Chapter 2 The DNA test went smoothly. The results would take a month. Tiffany wasn't having it. She started arguing with the clinic staff. "Why do I have to wait a month?" "Because there’s a line." "Do you know who I am?" "A citizen." "Who gave you the audacity to speak to me like that?" " The Constitution." The receptionist was stone-faced. Tiffany was stomping her feet. I was curling my toes in second-hand embarrassment. A crowd was gathering. I couldn't watch anymore, so I walked over and tugged her arm. "Maybe just wait? It's only a month..." She shook me off. "Shut up! You just want to squat in my nest for another month! I won't give you the chance!" She grabbed the receptionist’s lab coat and screamed: "I order you to get the results today, or face the consequences!" Chapter 3 The consequence was a three-day detention for disturbing the peace. Three days later, Tiffany returned. She demanded to move in, claiming she wanted to feel the "warmth of family" she had missed for years. Dad, cold as ice: "Martha, prep a room." Tiffany cried tears of joy. "I knew you accepted me in your hearts! This is great. I’ll spend every day by your side from now on." She shot me a glare and announced loudly: "I’m going to make up for all the lost time!" I turned my head, trying to keep a straight face. Lost time? Since I could remember, I woke up every day in a 10,000-square-foot mansion and ate breakfast at a dining table long enough to land a plane on. The permanent residents were Martha, Alfred, Julian (on weekends), and the two Dobermans in the yard. "Lonely, Rich, and Cold" was the tagline of my childhood. As a teen, my favorite hobby was looking up at the sky at a 45-degree angle, embodying the "Main Character Syndrome" of a sad indie movie. My social media posts were all: Money can't buy love or If you know, you know. This behavior stopped the year Julian took screenshots of my posts, blew them up into a PowerPoint presentation, and played them on loop during Christmas dinner. I didn't want to relive that social death, so I shed a tear of sympathy for Tiffany. Her dream was doomed. However, my glamorous Mom was beaming, clapping her hands in excitement. "That’s wonderful! I also want to make up for lost time! You’re so pretty, I’m going to dress you up like the most stunning princess!" Stunning princess? Hearing this, Julian and I synchronized a step backward. We wanted to speak. We stopped. But seeing Mom dragging Tiffany away with the excitement of a teenage girl... Julian and I looked at each other. We kept our mouths shut. ... "I have so many couture gowns and no one to wear them! Finally, a model!" "Mom, if you want, I’ll be your model forever." "Really? Oh, you’re so sweet. I’m going to cry." Tiffany was eating it up. She glanced at me sideways. "Mom, didn't you ever dress her up?" "I guess not. Since she’s not biological, you guys weren't close..." "It’s like those dogs in the yard. Only a real mother and child have that bond. Fakes can never be real!" Tiffany was monologuing now. "Look at how those dogs lean on each other. It’s a metaphor for our family..." I couldn't help it. "Goldie and Shadow are both male." Tiffany’s smile froze. Me: "And they were neutered ten years ago." Tiffany’s face went through the entire color spectrum. But soon, she regained her smug expression. Mom dragged her upstairs excitedly. Before she left, Tiffany shot me a victorious look. She didn't notice the pity in my eyes. Good luck, soldier. Chapter 4 Lunchtime. Four people at the table. Me, Julian, Mom, and... a Dopamine Doll. A luxury gown, heavy jewelry, and a towering top hat. Not high fashion. High altitude. I looked at Tiffany, who was balancing an eight-layer cake decoration on her head and wearing makeup that made her look like a Victorian ghost. My sympathy reached new heights. Growing up, Mom tried to turn me into a doll. Unfortunately, my average looks and slacker attitude made her give up. Julian, despite his looks, inherited Dad’s death glare. He shut Mom down before she could even start. I know Mom never gave up. She bought dolls. She even ordered life-sized silicone figures using Dad’s credit card. That incident made the tabloids. I snapped back to reality and looked at Tiffany. Her corset was so tight she couldn't sit, so she was standing to eat. She tried to pick up food, and the tower on her head wobbled. She looked down, and lead-based powder fell into her soup. Julian: "It’s not Christmas. Why is there a tree at the table?" Pfft. I usually don't laugh. Unless I can't help it. Mom was offended. "Isn't it cute? Like a doll..." She batted her eyelashes. Julian: "Dolls don't need oxygen. She looks like she’s about to pass out." Mom looked guilty. She glanced at Tiffany with concern. I don't know what possessed Tiffany, but facing Mom’s rare moment of emotion, she forced a smile uglier than a grimace. "No, I’m fine." "Don't force it," I warned kindly. She didn't appreciate it. "You wouldn't understand. A parent’s love for their daughter is heavy like a mountain. This isn't a burden; it’s the weight of love!" As soon as she finished saying "weight of love," a crisp SNAP echoed in the air. Tiffany’s expression twisted. Her body trembled. Finally, the physics of the eight-layer hat took over. She tipped backward and hit the floor with a deafening crash. Chaos ensued. Indeed. Parental love is heavy. Like a mountain. Or a concussion.
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