Chapter 1

1 Dad gave my scholarship money to my cousin as a Lunar New Year gift.

I cried and tried to snatch it back.

He slapped me to the ground.

Mom, as always, told me not to hold it against him.

That night, Dad ended up in the hospital.

...

When I was born, Dad cried on the roof for two hours.

He never changed a diaper, never fed me.

He barely even looked at me.

Then my cousin, Ethan, was born, and Dad showered him with all the love and attention I craved.

Every holiday, Dad would come home from working out of state.

He'd bring a huge bag overflowing with toys and candy, all for Ethan.

Whenever I stared longingly, Grandma would snap, "Greedy just like your mother. Remember how many sweet potatoes she ate after giving birth to you?"

Aunt Sarah, to save face, would toss me a couple of candies from the bag.

I'd take them back to my room, hoping Mom would stick up for me.

But she'd just tell me not to make a fuss, and that candy wasn't good for girls anyway.

Eventually, I stopped watching Dad hand out treats to Ethan.

And then, I didn't even get the few pieces of candy.

Sometimes, I'd still peek through the crack in the door.

I'd make a small noise, hoping Dad would notice me.

But every time, I only saw the loving smile on his face as he held Ethan.

He'd bounce Ethan on his knee, tickle him, and make silly faces.

Their laughter would fill the room.

If my noise caught his attention, he'd glance at me with annoyance and disdain, then quickly turn away.

Ethan was a cute, chubby baby, and Uncle Mark treated him like a prince.

Dad had tears in his eyes, saying the Miller family finally had an heir, and clasped a gold "baby's blessing" necklace around Ethan's neck.

That necklace cost Dad half a month's wages, and Mom had a huge fight with him about it.

But Dad didn't care. All that mattered was the Miller family's only son, their legacy.

Mom wavered when they changed the law allowing couples to have two children.

I was ten then, and she asked me if I wanted a little brother.

Thinking of Ethan, I shook my head firmly. "I hate little brothers," I said.

Mom didn't have another baby, and Dad resented me even more for it.

When I was little, I asked Mom if I was adopted.

She said Dad was just old-fashioned, but he loved me.

I was his daughter, he couldn't not love me, he just didn't know how to show it.

But I'd heard him tell Ethan, "My favorite nephew! Uncle David loves you best!"

The only time Dad looked at me kindly was when I brought home good grades.

When I was ten, I surprised everyone by ranking first in my class.

Ms. Jones, our new teacher, was young and kind.

She gave me a twenty-dollar bill from her own pocket as a reward.

She encouraged me to keep up the good work.

I bowed deeply and thanked her sincerely.

Walking home, clutching the envelope with the money, I felt like I was walking on air. Even the wildflowers seemed more beautiful.

I gave the envelope to Mom, who was busy tending the fire in the kitchen stove.

She wiped her hands on her apron before taking it.

That night, for the first time, Dad put food on my plate.

It was a slice of pepperoni. He didn't say a word of praise.

Still, I said, "Thank you, Dad."

I started to believe Mom was right.

Dad did love me. He just didn't know how to show it.

Until New Year's Eve, when that familiar envelope appeared on the dinner table.

My world shattered.