When the fire broke out, my mother grabbed my little sister, and my father hoisted my older brother onto his back. They ran. They left me behind in the flames. My face was burned. And just like that, the demanding, spoiled girl who fought for every scrap of affection vanished. I became obedient. It didn't matter. I was dying anyway. Let them have the little love there was to give. But then, they were the ones filled with regret. They would clutch my skeletal hand and plead, "Can't you throw just one more tantrum for us? Please?" 1 My mother, clutching my sister, and my father, carrying my brother, burst from the inferno. They clung to each other, their sobs of relief echoing in the night. "Is there anyone else inside?!" a firefighter shouted, rushing toward them. My mother spun around, her eyes wide with panic as she did a frantic headcount. She pointed to my brother and sister. "Leo, April—the two kids are here! They're both here!" "Are you sure no one's left?" the firefighter pressed. But my mother's gaze was locked on her two precious children. She didn't answer, just kept murmuring, "They're safe, thank God, they're safe," pulling them into an even tighter embrace. At that exact moment, I stumbled out of the fire, my hand clamped over my mouth to keep from inhaling the smoke. Her words made me feel like a pathetic joke. I was covered in soot, my clothes in scorched tatters. They, having escaped earlier, were practically untouched, their clothes clean. The strength that had carried me this far evaporated. My mother's words hit me like a physical blow, and I collapsed. The ground met my back, and an excruciating, searing pain shot through me. My name is Faye. My full name is Fayleen. But I've always just been "Faye," the one who fades away. The leftover. 2 "Leo, stop tickling me!" Once clear of the danger, my sister and brother started roughhousing. Their laughter seemed to ease the worry from my parents' faces. But then, April stumbled and her hand landed squarely on the wound on my back. "Ah!" A scream ripped from my throat. I could feel the freshly bandaged wound tear open again, blood seeping through, the pain a white-hot agony. April scrambled to her feet, her dark eyes wide with fear as she hid behind Leo. "Honestly, Faye!" My mother's glare was instant and sharp. "Throwing a tantrum again? Why would you scream at your sister like that?" Her eyes met mine, and she flinched, a flicker of disgust crossing her face. It was probably because of the burns on my face. She thought I was acting out because she hadn't been paying attention. She hadn't seen the firefighter carefully dress my wound. She never saw me. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I ran to the side, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed. My cries echoed in the vast, empty night. They all fell silent. When my tears finally subsided, my mother approached, holding April's hand. She sighed, reaching for mine. I flinched away. Her hand froze in mid-air. "Faye, please try to understand," she said, her voice strained. "It's not that we don't love you. But Leo is at a critical point in his career, and April is so young..." I looked at her, my throat thick with unshed tears. "Can't you just be a little more considerate?" Seeing her earnest, pleading face, I laughed. A bitter, hollow sound. It was laughable. The love I received was always just the leftovers, the crumbs. My mother, perhaps mistaking my laugh for forgiveness, grabbed my hand and placed it on top of April's. "There, that's better," she cooed, trying to smooth things over, to create the illusion of a happy, united family. "Now, why don't you tell your sister you're sorry, and we can all move on. We're a family, after all!" Though she spoke to me, her eyes were fixed on April, her voice a gentle caress meant to soothe my crying, pitiful little sister. I snatched my hand back as if I'd been burned. My mother shot me a look of pure disappointment. "I have three children," she said, her words like knives, "and you're the only one I've managed to spoil so rotten." Then she swept April into her arms and stormed away. Yes. This was what she called spoiled. Inconsiderate. I used to be the one who was always wheedling and whining, begging my parents for things. But that was because I knew I wasn't their favorite. If I didn't fight for their attention, I would get nothing at all. Now, I was dying. I was sick. I wasn't going to fight for the scraps anymore. 3 Our house was gone, so we had to find a new place to live. Luckily, it had been a detached villa, so the fire hadn't spread. "Finding a new place is a nightmare," my father said one evening. "It's hard enough with three kids. We can only take two for now. We'll have to send one to stay with family." As he spoke, every head in the room turned to me. I gave a weak, bitter smile. The old me would have thrown herself into their arms, sobbing and pleading until they gave in with a weary, "Oh, what are we going to do with you? We've spoiled you too much, that's the problem." But Leo and April never had to plead for what they wanted. This time, I didn't make a scene. I just gave a small nod, took a step back, and said in a raspy voice, "I'll go." They all stared at me, surprised, but no one said a word. So, I was sent to my uncle's house. Every day, I lived under the watchful, critical eyes of my aunt and uncle. At first, they offered forced smiles. Soon, they didn't even bother with that, their faces cold and stony. It didn't matter if I woke up early to do all the chores or collected plastic bottles to exchange for a few coins to give them. They would just purse their lips, their expressions unreadable but clearly displeased. One afternoon, after scrubbing the bathroom, I overheard them talking. "When is she leaving?" my aunt complained. "Just a couple more days," my uncle sighed. "Ugh, have you smelled her? I feel like I have to take two showers every time I talk to her. And another mouth to feed... it's a lot of pressure." I looked down and sniffed at my clothes. They didn't like me using their shower, so I hadn't dared. That night at dinner, I forced a smile. "Uncle, Auntie," I said as casually as I could, as if I were just sharing a funny story, "I don't think my room is very comfortable. Maybe I should move into the basement? And I don't need to eat with you all anymore. I can just scrounge something up for myself." I carefully controlled my expression, my tone, terrified of upsetting them. They nodded, their frozen faces thawing slightly. "Here, Faye," my aunt said, actually putting a piece of egg on my plate. "Don't just eat plain rice. Have some of this." 4 The basement was freezing. The door was no match for the biting wind that stabbed at my wounds, making them ache and itch. I wrapped the threadbare blanket around myself, tears and snot streaming down my face. My mouth was parched. I hadn't had a drop of water all day. The thirst was agonizing. Finally, I crept out of my hovel. A puddle of dirty water had collected on the ground from a leaky pipe. A stray cat was lapping at it. After a moment's hesitation, I knelt down beside it. When you're dying of thirst, dignity doesn't seem so important. The water was cool and, to my parched throat, sweet. When I had drunk my fill, I wiped my mouth and stood up. And there was Leo, my brother, standing over me, his face a cold mask. I had no idea how long he'd been watching. He's here. He saw me. My body swayed, and I wanted to run, to hide. "Come on," he said abruptly. "We're going home for New Year's dinner." I hadn't expected this. I scrambled backward, terrified that my smell would offend him. But he just frowned, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward his car. "Let's go!" The entire ride, I sat in a state of anxious dread. When we arrived at their new house, I hesitated. It was a two-story house with a small, neat yard. Clean and tidy. It didn't look like they were struggling financially at all. So why couldn't they have taken me? I hung my head, reluctant to go inside. They didn't know I was there. I could hear their laughter echoing from within. My parents were cooing over April, calling her their "sweet baby." Their joy was a stark contrast to my own misery, making me feel even more like an outsider. Then, April's voice piped up. "Where's my sister?" The laughter died. The house fell silent. Leo stood beside me, his expression unreadable. "Her?" my mother's voice, sharp and cold, cut through the silence. "She burned our house down. What right does she have to come back? Let her come for dinner, and then we'll give her a piece of our minds!" I stared at Leo in disbelief. "You were there," I whispered. "You know it wasn't me. It was April..." Before I could finish, Leo whipped his head around, hissing, "Shut up!" His voice was like a whip. I shrank back into the corner. I don't know when it started, but I've become so sensitive to sounds, to people's emotions. Disgust, anger, annoyance—they all make me tremble. "I'm sorry..." I mumbled. But Leo's face grew even colder. "My sister is a timid girl," he said in a low voice. "It's New Year's. Don't cause any more trouble. Does it really matter who started the fire?" The way he said it, it was as if I wasn't his sister at all. I touched my own bony arm and nodded. "I won't tell anyone." His expression softened slightly. "Come on, let's go eat. Mom and Dad sent me to get you." I shook my head. "Can you just give me some money? I need to buy medicine." His face hardened again, his dark eyes filled with revulsion. "Do you have a conscience? You finally come home, and the only thing you can think about is asking for money?" He grumbled, but he still pulled a few red bills from his pocket and threw them at my face. I didn't react. I just knelt down and started picking up the money. Leo clenched his fists, looking even angrier. "You're pathetic," he sneered. "I'm humiliating you like this, and you don't even fight back?" The old me would have been furious, would have started a fight with him. This time, I ignored him. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. My period had started. And I had just drunk that cold, dirty water... "Can I have a cup of hot water? Please..." I clutched my stomach, my eyes welling with tears. Seeing me suddenly so weak, a smug look crossed his face. He said nothing. He just strode to the door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. "She's not coming!" I heard him shout from inside. "Refuses to come, no matter what!" The pain in my stomach was a twisting agony. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and a wave of nausea rose from my gut. My legs cramped, and I collapsed, fainting on their cold, clean doorstep. Through a hazy fog, I thought I saw their panicked faces.
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