On New Year's Eve, my wealthy parents and brother finally agreed to accompany me to Disneyland to count down the new year. But when I arrived at the park, I saw no sign of them. I texted them, and they replied helplessly that they were stuck in traffic and would be late. I waited alone in the park until late at night. When the midnight bell rang... I saw my fake sister's Instagram post. She was wearing a pure white princess dress, holding a newly won dance trophy, hugged in the middle by my parents and brother at a New Year's Eve banquet. Caption: [New Year, same love. Celebrating with my favorite family.] Her friends liked and commented below. This wasn't the first time my parents broke a promise. But this time, I didn't cry or make a scene. I just commented calmly: [So nice. Wishing your family of four a Happy New Year.] Chapter 1 That night, I stayed at Disneyland alone until dawn. I had just fallen asleep at home when the phone rang. I stared at the name "Ethan" flashing on the screen and didn't move. After he hung up and called for the fourth time, I slowly picked up. Before I could speak, a roar exploded from the other end: "Nora, what's with your sarcastic comment in the middle of the night?" "Stella won an award last night! Twenty years of hard work for that trophy. What's wrong with us celebrating for her?" His voice turned colder. "Can't you be more sensible? Do you have to make the whole family unhappy on New Year's?" Sensible. That word again. From the first day I was brought back to the Sterling family, this word reminded me to step aside, shut up, and smile. I looked at the gray sky outside the window and finally spoke. "Ethan, Happy New Year." The other end choked. The anger he prepared was stuck in his throat. I didn't give him a chance to react. I continued in a tone devoid of emotion: "I didn't mean anything else." "I just think... you guys look like a real family." Then, I hung up. The world instantly became quiet. The phone screen went dark, reflecting my expressionless face. I stood up, walked to the huge walk-in closet, and opened the bottom drawer. From under a pile of flashy jewelry boxes, I dragged out the old canvas bag I brought when I came. Unzipping it, I started packing. My old T-shirts, my sketchbook, and the mechanical pencil I'd used for years. Halfway through, the phone rang again. This time not my "good brother," but Vanessa, my mother in the legal sense. I didn't answer. I declined the call and continued folding my old clothes one by one, putting them into the canvas bag. There weren't many; it was full quickly. The phone rang again. Richard, my father. I declined again. Soon, the phone vibrated. A text message popped up. From Richard, with the commanding tone of the head of the household: [Your sister is crying from guilt. Come back and apologize immediately. If you're done throwing a tantrum, come home.] I looked at the message and didn't reply. I still had one most important thing to do. I opened the desk drawer. Inside lay a black card. This was given to me when I first returned to the Sterling family. They said it was pocket money, buy whatever I wanted, just don't embarrass the family. I never used it once. I took it out, placed it on the clean desk, took out my phone, and snapped a photo. Click. Then, I opened the "Happy Family" group chat, which was usually dead silent except for holidays. I sent the photo. Followed by a line of text: "Thank you for your care. I haven't touched this money. The password is Stella's birthday. From now on, I'm on my own." Chapter 2 After doing all this, I felt light all over. Within thirty seconds, my phone went crazy. The group chat exploded, but I had no interest in looking. Then, Vanessa called for the third time, with a persistence that said she wouldn't stop until I answered. This time, I picked up. "Nora! Where are you? Come back, okay? What do you mean by sending that?" Her voice was suppressed, tearful. "Nothing," I said. "Literal meaning." "Nora, Mom knows you felt wronged all these years, but Stella is weak. She's sensitive. How can you provoke her like this? If she sees it, she'll get sick again!" Listening to the familiar rhetoric, I almost laughed. Again. Stella's health was a universal shield, blocking all their bias and all my grievances. Before, I would be silent, endure, and say "I know." But today, I didn't want to. I interrupted her crying. My voice was light, but clear as an ice pick. "Mrs. Sterling." The crying on the other end stopped abruptly. I paused, giving her a second to digest the address, then asked the question I should have asked long ago in the calmest tone of my life. "Do I need to remind you that you share no blood relation with her?" Silence. I hung up. The world was clean. I muted my phone, threw it on the bed, finished packing my small canvas bag, and returned to my college dorm. The next day, I appeared in my major class on time, sitting in the front row. Professor Vance, known for his strictness, announced that our department had an exchange slot with a top international landscape design studio this year. The selected student could go to their headquarters for a three-month real project. One sentence dropped a bomb in the classroom. Everyone started whispering, eyes shining. Me too. This wasn't just an opportunity; it was a boat that could carry me out of this suffocating water. But Professor Vance's next words poured a bucket of cold water on me. He said, to ensure the student completes the project, a deposit of $5,000 was required. Five thousand. All the money in my pocket added up to less than three hundred. I needed money. Ask the Sterlings? Impossible. I started living in the library, drawing until my knuckles were sore. At the same time, I took three part-time jobs. Grinding beans at a coffee shop in the morning, tutoring math in the afternoon, and delivering food on a second-hand e-bike at night. My life was packed full. Tired? Yes. sometimes after the last delivery, sitting on the curb, I didn't even have the strength to lift my arm. But when I stuffed the few bills earned that day—smelling of ink and sweat—into my pocket, I felt a void in my heart being filled a little. This money was clean. It smelled better than any dish on the Sterling family table. I thought my life and the Sterlings' had become parallel lines. Unexpectedly, someone insisted on twisting them together. That night, after delivering food, I was eating a discounted rice ball in a convenience store when my phone screen lit up. A message from a classmate I was somewhat close with. She sent a screenshot of Stella's Instagram. In the photo, Ethan was gently putting an expensive necklace on her. Circled in the screenshot were comments between Stella and Ethan. Stella: "Brother, I heard from classmates that Sister is working several jobs recently." Ethan replied with a question mark. Stella added: "Is she scraping money for that exchange project? Sigh, it's all our fault. If not for that day... she wouldn't have left home in anger and suffered so much outside. Should we help her? A girl alone outside, what if she gets tricked by bad people for money?" Below that paragraph, a row of likes from mutual friends looked particularly glaring. I stared at the text, reeking of manipulation, and finished my rice ball expressionlessly. She always had a way to keep herself clean while splashing dirty water on me. Left home in anger? Tricked for money? With a few light words, she defined my efforts and persistence as a farce staged for sympathy. And my "good brother" inevitably believed it. Sure enough, my phone vibrated. A transfer notification popped up. From Ethan. Amount: $10,000. Followed by a cold, contemptuous message. "Short on money? Is playing the victim fun? Name your price." Chapter 3 I turned off my phone, ignored the transfer, and continued delivering food the next day. On the day of the anonymous showcase, my design "Homing" was projected on the big screen. Professor Vance's voice echoed in the lecture hall, with rare excitement: "This work has spirit and warmth. It doesn't show off skills, but every line tells a complete story." The audience was silent for three seconds, then exploded. Sitting in the corner, my palms holding the pen were sweaty. This was the boat I built line by line over countless nights. Now, it really seemed ready to set sail. The final list would be announced the next evening. But the night before, just as I finished the final check and was about to save the file, the computer screen went black. Then blue. A bunch of error codes I didn't understand. The fan stopped, the hum of the hard drive vanished. Dead silence. I slumped in my chair, drained of all strength, mind blank. Restart. Restart again. Nothing but the cold blue screen. All my drafts, data, every byte I exchanged with my sweat—gone. A chill rushed from my soles to my skull. I remembered the venomous look Stella gave me at the venue. I stood up abruptly, grabbed my coat, and rushed out. I stormed back to the Sterling villa and kicked open Stella's door. She was applying a mask, relaxing in bed with her iPad. My intrusion startled her. "What did you do?" My voice shook violently. She took off the mask, revealing a pure, innocent face, eyes watery: "Sister, what's wrong? Who made you angry?" "My computer." I stared at her dead on. "My files." She laughed as if hearing a huge joke. "Sister, what nonsense are you talking about? What does your computer have to do with me?" Just then, my parents and Ethan rushed in. They saw a menacing me and a tearful, pitiful Stella. Vanessa shielded Stella immediately, glaring at me: "Nora! Are you crazy? Barging into your sister's room at night? Stella is weak, do you want to scare her to death?" Richard also darkened his face: "Outrageous! Apologize to your sister!" I ignored them, staring at Stella. Deep in her eyes, a trace of triumph hadn't faded yet. Enough. I understood everything. "Jealousy," Ethan's icy voice crashed down like a poisoned knife. "Jealousy has made you unrecognizable. Stella won so many awards, and you never felt happy for her once. Now that you lost your stuff, you run back to blame her?" He walked up to me, looking down with disdain and disgust: "Is the money I gave you not enough? Do you have to use such dirty tricks to get attention? Nora, you disgust me." I looked at them. These three blood relatives stood like three walls, separating me and Stella into two worlds. Each of them used the sharpest words to slice me, cut by cut. I suddenly smiled. Laughed until tears came out. I said nothing, turned, and left. Vanessa's crying and Ethan's scolding came from behind, but I couldn't hear a word. Back in the empty dorm, I slid down against the door, a shell with no soul. Outside, neon lights flickered, but none shone for me. It's over. Everything is over. Just as I was about to sink completely into darkness, my phone screen lit up. Ding. A new email. Sender: Anonymous. I clicked it with trembling hands. In the attachment, a zip file. I downloaded and unzipped it like a robot. The folder name: "Homing." I clicked it. All my original drafts, modeling data, backups. Everything was there. The email body had only one sentence. "Your talent should not be buried." I froze.
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