The year my foster mother beat me half to death was the same year I found out I was the "real" daughter, switched at birth on purpose. After a whirlwind transition back to the wealthy Sterling family, I instinctively chose the smallest, shabbiest room in the mansion. My biological mom immediately stopped me. "Why are you going into the maid's quarters? Your room is upstairs." My brother walked towards me with his hand extended. Conditioned by habit, I lowered my head and meekly handed over my monthly allowance. His eyes widened in shock. "I'm your brother! I was reaching out to bandage your wounds, not take your money!" Then came Chloe, the girl who took my place. She walked towards me with a tear-streaked face. I braced myself, turning my left cheek like they do in the dramas, ready for the slap. I expected a stinging pain. Instead, I got a kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry, big sis. Can you please not hate me?" 1 The scenery outside the car window blurred past. The woman sitting next to me held my hand, her grip slightly nervous. Maybe my expression was too numb, because she kept throwing out topic after topic. "Do you like Barbies, Ava? Mom will buy you a bunch, you can pick whatever you want." "How are your grades? Is there anything you're particularly interested in? Mom can sign you up for some classes." "Oh, I'm talking too much. How about you decide what we eat for lunch, Ava? We can have the chef make it, or Mom can cook. My specialty is steamed egg custard, I just don't know if you like it." She gave me an awkward smile. Her hands were well-maintained, soft and fair, not looking at all like the hands of a forty-year-old woman. I lowered my head and whispered, "Whatever is fine." My foster mother used to say my voice sounded like a rooster crowing—annoying as hell. Every time she saw me, she got irritated. Since then, I tried not to speak unless absolutely necessary. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I'd scare this new mom, and she'd send me back. After all, she didn't raise me. She might find me repulsive. 2 The day my mom found me, my foster mother had gotten into a huge fight with my drunk foster father. She took all her anger out on me. A wooden stick as thick as a thumb—she said she'd break it on me, and she did. I didn't have a single patch of unbruised skin left. beaten to within an inch of my life, I was suddenly pulled into a warm embrace. Hot tears fell on my face. In my daze, I thought I had gone to heaven. I didn't want to die, but heaven seemed okay. There was a woman with a gentle voice guiding me. Life there probably wouldn't be too hard. At least, it couldn't be harder than this. "My daughter... I finally found you. My poor baby." I was sent to the hospital and recovered for a month before my mom took me home. My dad is the CEO of a publicly traded company, my mom owns an art gallery. I have a brother in his junior year of high school, and a sister in the same grade as me—freshman year. A sister with zero blood relation to me. We live in a villa, with countless luxury cars, a housekeeper, and bodyguards. After entering the house, Mom went to the kitchen to check on lunch. She told me to pick a room first. "You can have whichever one you want." I pursed my lips and carefully walked around the first floor. Even the bathroom was bigger, brighter, and cleaner than the entire house I used to live in. I picked the only room that seemed "small and shabby" compared to the others, though it was actually spacious, bright, and had AC, a washer, and an ensuite bathroom. In my old life, I wouldn't have dared to dream of this. Just having a bed was a luxury. I figured this one would do. I shouldn't be greedy as the newcomer. Not sleeping in the security booth was already a win. I started walking towards that room. Mom poked her head out of the kitchen and saw me. She immediately called out, "Ava, why are you going into the maid's room? That's for the housekeeper! Your room is upstairs!" 3 I sighed softly. I knew I didn't have that kind of luck. The upstairs room must be cramped, dark, damp, and stuffy. Walking up the carved wooden staircase, I was dazzled by the exquisite paintings on the walls. I didn't dare touch anything, not even a corner. I was terrified Mom would make me pay for it. Even if I sold my worthless life, I couldn't afford it. When I got to the second floor, I was dumbfounded. Every room was twice the size of the ones downstairs. The luxury was jaw-dropping. Just as I was debating whether to sleep on the stairs or in the small storage closet at the end of the hall, a boy with striking eyebrows and bright eyes put his hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at him. He looked about 50% like me. He had a sunny smile on his face and a backpack over one shoulder, looking like a high schooler who just got home. "You must be Ava. I'm your brother, Liam." He looked apologetic. "Sorry I didn't visit you in the hospital earlier. I was at a training camp, and the coach wouldn't let me leave. I just got back." "You've suffered all these years. As your brother, it's my fault for not protecting you back then. If I had been a bit older, you wouldn't have been taken." His eyes were filled with pain. I couldn't help but comfort him, "It's okay. I'm fine now." It wasn't their fault. Liam looked up. "You were picking a room, right? Why don't you take the one next to mine? Easier for me to look out for you." I wanted to refuse, but he didn't give me a chance. So, half-pushed, half-led, I chose the room next to his. Liam left for a second and came back holding a small box. He sat down in my room and extended his hand towards me. "Come here." Right. Every time my foster brother, Tyler, needed money, he would sweet-talk me before extending his hand. This meant he wanted money. I dug out an envelope from my pocket. It was the allowance Mom had just stuffed in there. It wasn't even warm yet. I was self-aware. I meekly handed over my living expenses. It wasn't my money anyway. I had no attachment to it. Just like the twenty bucks I earned collecting bottles—I handed that over too. Liam's eyebrows knitted together in displeasure. He looked at me, then at the envelope. Was he dissatisfied with the amount? Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock. "I'm your brother! I was reaching out to bandage your wound, not take your money!" He pulled my sleeve, looking anxious and angry. He took out a cotton swab, dipped it in iodine, lifted my hair, and gently applied it to the wound, even blowing on it softly. "This cut hasn't healed properly. Wait a sec, I'll put a band-aid on it. Your hair must have been covering it; Mom didn't even notice." "If anyone hits you in the future, you hit them back. I'll take the consequences. If I can't handle it, Mom and Dad will. You're my biological sister; you can't just let people bully you for nothing, understand?" I nodded blankly. He stuffed the envelope back into my hand. He seemed satisfied. "Although no one would dare bully you with me around, there might be times when I'm not there. How about this? I'll sign you up for a kickboxing class." He looked at me with burning intensity. I actually laughed. "Sure, why not." Liam muttered helplessly, "Finally heard you speak. I almost thought you were mute." Just then, Mom called from downstairs, "Dinner's ready!" 4 I walked down the stairs stiffly, my feet feeling like I was walking on cotton. I was afraid if I stepped too hard, I'd wake up and realize this was all a dream. I was starting to get attached to this dream. The dining table was filled with over a dozen dishes. It was a grand affair. Mom and Liam kept piling food into my bowl until it was overflowing. "I peeled the shrimp for you, eat it while it's hot." "This abalone is really fresh, try a bite." "This carp soup is the housekeeper's specialty. Mom will get you a small bowl. Careful, it's hot. Drink it when it cools down." I took a cautious sip. Just then, Dad walked in holding my sister's hand. Even though he was the CEO of a listed company, he was carrying her small backpack himself. My sister was cute, looking like a delicate doll. She had pigtails and a bunch of clips in her hair, looking like a princess living in a fairytale castle. Seeing me, she timidly called out, "Sister?" I bit my lip. Was my dream going to shatter this quickly? Mom had apologized to me before: "I'm sorry, Ava. We discussed it for a long time, but we couldn't bring ourselves to send Chloe back. After all, we raised her for 15 years." "If she went back, the drop in lifestyle would be too huge. She wouldn't be able to handle it, and it would break our hearts." "Even though there's no blood relation, in our eyes, she's been our daughter for a long time." "I know you suffered and went through hell, but it wasn't her fault. Chloe cried so many times, saying she didn't mean for this to happen, that she'll make it up to you and earn your forgiveness. Please let her stay, okay?" "I promise, even if I'm biased, I'll be biased towards you." Facing Mom's pleading eyes, I couldn't refuse. I had no right to refuse. After all, to this family of four, I was the real "outsider." Whenever I dreamed of things I didn't deserve, my foster mother would curse me out and slap me. "You stupid little wretch! Look in the mirror at your ugly face! Do you deserve anything? Pfft!" "Let me tell you, rotten melons don't produce good seeds. You're delusional! A toad wanting to eat swan meat! You just don't have the destiny for it!" Back then, I was hung up and beaten for a whole day. And the reason? I saw other classmates eating lollipops and begged my foster mom to buy me one. That lollipop was on special at a new store. It cost ten cents. I lowered my head and stopped drinking the soup. I was waiting. Waiting for Chloe to throw herself into Mom and Dad's arms and cry, asking why they brought me back. Waiting for Mom and Dad to make me apologize, scolding me for making their daughter unhappy. Waiting for my brother to heartache for Chloe and cut ties with me. "Get out! You're not my sister! I hate you!" It was so strange. I had only been with them for a short time. Why did imagining these scenes feel like a knife twisting in my heart? Clearly, this was normal. I had always been the child who wasn't favored. Why did it hurt so much? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe walking towards me with a mournful face. Sigh. Isn't that how it goes in TV dramas? I accepted my fate. I closed my eyes and offered my left cheek. My right cheek was still swollen from my foster mom's beating. If she hit the left one, at least I'd be symmetrical. I waited for a long time. I expected a burning pain. Instead, a pair of soft, warm lips pressed against my left cheek. Not only did I not get hit, I got a kiss. I opened my eyes in surprise. Chloe threw herself into my arms. She was wailing, her small arms wrapped around my waist, melting like a little snowman. "I'm sorry, big sis! Can you please not hate me?" "I really don't want to leave this home. Please don't kick me out, okay? I didn't mean to take your place." "I won't acknowledge my biological parents, never in this life. I only acknowledge you as my sister. Good sister, can you please like me in the future? I promise I'll be good!" She... she wasn't following the script? Was it my imagination? They seemed... actually welcoming? Even Dad, who had been stoic the whole time, had tears in the corners of his eyes. No, no, no. This must be their disguise. My foster mom said I was the worst child in the world and no one would like me. Yes, that must be it.
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