Three Lives, One Tragedy

The Outcast

Liam gently placed Alice on the sofa once they returned home. Then, my mother quickly fumbled with the remote and turned on Alice's favorite drama. On the other hand, my father silently brought over a plate of fruit and set it beside her.

"Alice, why don't you watch some TV while I cook your favorite food?" said my mother, who rarely cooks. Then, she pulled out the tablet to look up for some cooking tutorials.

All Alice needed to do was sit there and receive Liam's offerings while watching TV. She didn't have to do anything as she could effortlessly capture everyone's attention.

I felt a wave of grief fill my heart as I watched the familiar, heartwarming scene before me.

This was supposed to be my home, yet every inch of this place was filled with horrible memories.

I remember when we first moved into this house. Back then, I was thrilled to finally have my own bedroom, even though it was only a third the size of Alice's. However, I was just happy not to sleep in the storage room anymore.

As I came downstairs for dinner, Alice, who was ten years old, blocked my way and said, "Are you that happy, Vanessa?"

Although I didn't understand her words, years of never being able to win against her made me instinctively take a step back.

Still, she gave me a twisted smile before crying out my name as she threw herself down the stairs.

I didn't think twice and ran down to check on her. However, by the time I got there, she was curled up in Mom's arms while looking helpless. "Mom, don't blame Vanessa. I can give her my room," she murmured weakly.

She nailed me to a post of shame with one single sentence.

After my mother heard her words, she slapped me and screeched angrily, "Are you trying to kill her, Vanessa? How could I have such an ungrateful daughter? You are selfish, a liar, and a cruel person! Her parents saved you! How can you bear the thought of hurting her?"

I shook my head feebly, insisting that Alice had fallen on her own. Alas, what I got in return was a beating from her, leaving me writhing on the floor in agony.

"Can't you be a decent person? Tell me! Can you do it?"

It really hurt me. Then, from that day on, my mother never believed a single word I said. At the same time, I was sent back to the storage room, the space where all the unwanted items were stored.

My mother made an array of special dishes.

"Alice, this soup base is made from the finest spices. You've always loved curry noodles, haven't you? You always say the ones outside aren't fresh enough. Also, this entire lobster is for you!

"You're always too frugal with yourself. You would always give your lobster to Vanessa. If only she was as kind as you!"

I looked blankly at the feast laid out on the table.

Only now did I know that my mother was willing to make curry noodles and said it tasted great.

How ridiculous.

Back then, I asked our helper to prepare an instant pack of curry noodles when I was pregnant. However, Alice was on her period and threw a fit since she was craving it. So, my mother yelled at me for eating something so disgusting and told me to eat it outside.

It was the middle of winter. The wind lashed at my face and chilled my heart.

It was unfortunate that my soul felt no hunger. Otherwise, I would have vomited all over this table.

As I looked at the baked cheese crabs, lobsters, and garlic oysters on the table, I cackled since I was allergic to seafood. Then, I looked at the remaining dishes, which were pork ribs and prawns.

Since I had mild bronchitis, I couldn't eat pork. Thus, the only thing I could eat was a plate of plain boiled white cabbage.

If I were sitting here and eating the cabbage, I could imagine my mother scolding me. "Who are you trying to guilt-trip this time, Vanessa? If you want to eat, just eat it. If not, get back to your room and stop ruining our mood!"

Alice loved seafood, and Mom always seemed to forget that I was allergic to it.

Every time I faced a table full of seafood, Alice would offer me some of it. When I reminded them I was allergic to seafood, my mother would either scold me or throw a spoon at me.

It had always been this way.