Chapter 3

3 The next morning, Lily’s laughter mingled with my parents’ voices from the dining room. I walked downstairs and saw Lily sitting in my usual spot, using my favorite plate and cutlery.

The cheerful atmosphere instantly evaporated upon my arrival, as if I were the outsider intruding on their family. My mother looked flustered. “Ashley, you’re up early. Lily doesn’t have her own dishes yet, so she’s using yours. Could you use David’s?”

“No,” I said flatly. “I don’t like taking other people’s things.”

Everyone knew I was being sarcastic. My father, still angry about me “bullying” Lily the previous night, scowled.

I glanced at the table — milk, a sandwich, and bacon and eggs — all Lily’s favorites. I was lactose intolerant and usually had oatmeal for breakfast.

“Oh, I forgot you can’t have milk,” my mother said quickly, eager to smooth things over, to hide the fact that she catered to her adopted daughter more than her own. “I’ll make you some soy milk.”

“Enough with the fuss!” my father snapped, slamming his mug on the table. “You spoil her rotten! We have to take Lily to enroll in school. We don't have time for this!”

My past self would have been devastated by his words, throwing a tantrum. Now, I felt only numb.

I sat quietly in a corner and saw a smug smile flicker across Lily’s face before she quickly replaced it with a look of sadness.

“Dad, don’t be mean to Ashley,” she said softly. “She’s not like me. She’s always been loved and cherished. It’s natural for her to be a little spoiled. It just means you love her very much.”

My saintly parents were moved to tears once again. How could there be such an angelic little girl? In comparison, I, who had everything and was still so difficult, seemed incredibly ungrateful. They looked at me with deep disappointment.

But I didn’t care. In my past life, I had become practically estranged from my parents. I didn’t care what they thought of me. I could have easily played the role of the clueless, easily controlled younger sister, earning back some scraps of their affection. But I would make Lily understand that the love and family she schemed so hard to acquire meant nothing to me.

By the time the “happy family” returned from enrolling Lily in school, I had already moved my belongings to the spare maid’s room, vacating my old bedroom. Not to be magnanimous, but to preserve my own space.

My father patted my head. “Good girl, Ashley,” he said.

A younger child might have been pleased by this praise. But I understood the underlying message: to be his “good girl,” I had to be like them, constantly sympathetic to Lily, sacrificing my own happiness for hers.

Lily barged into my old room, her face paling at the sight of my art supplies, a complete set my parents had bought me. She rushed to my mother, sobbing dramatically.

“I want to paint like Ashley… I want to be carefree like her…”

My mother looked at me, hesitant. “Ashley, honey,” she finally said, “could you put your art supplies away for now? Just to… you know… spare Lily’s feelings?”

Here we go again. Since Lily’s arrival, my space, both physical and emotional, had been constantly shrinking, to the point where I wasn’t even allowed my hobbies and dreams.

It had been the same in my past life. Lily’s eyes couldn't handle extended periods of drawing, so I was forced to curtail my own artistic pursuits. Despite being the daughter of a painter, I wasn’t allowed to buy art supplies freely or attend classes, simply because it might upset Lily. Yet, Lily could snuggle up to my father, learning to paint from him directly. Each of her artworks was meticulously framed, while mine were hidden away.

The injustice had culminated during our college entrance exams for art school. Lily, experiencing an episode with her eyes mid-exam, couldn’t complete her piece. When submitting our work, she switched our names.

When the results came out, I instantly recognized the outstanding piece attributed to Lily as my own. I begged my parents to intervene, but they simply comforted the hysterically crying Lily, urging me to be magnanimous.

“Ashley, you can retake the exam next year,” they had said. “But Lily’s running out of time. You know her eyes could give out any day.”

“Lily’s had such a hard life. Just let her have this. You can definitely get in next year!”

Easy for them to say. They had no idea how much time and effort I, the less talented one, had secretly poured into practicing, drawing in the dark every night, almost ruining my own eyesight.

“She’s stolen my parents, and now she wants to steal my future?!” I had screamed. “Give me back my place, or I’ll leave this house and never come back!”

My outburst only earned me a slap from my enraged father. “If Lily’s eyes weren't failing, you think you’d stand a chance against her? You have no talent! You’d just be at the bottom of the class at art school!”

I couldn't believe those words had come from my own father.

In the end, Lily took my place at art school. I became the laughingstock of the art world, losing to an adopted daughter with a disability. My artistic dreams shattered, I led a mediocre life.

Now, reborn, I felt no passion for art. So, in front of my parents, I threw my art supplies in the trash. My father’s face darkened, but knowing they were in the wrong, he and Lily left without a word.