Unloved and Left to Burn

The original plan was to have Calla's birthday party at our family's mansion home. When they brought out the custom five-tier cake, I felt a sudden push from behind. Thrown forward, I landed directly on the cake.

I will never forget the laughter of the guests and the anger in my parents and brother's eyes whilst I was covered in frosting and fruit. They claimed I was jealous of Calla and had ruined her birthday out of spite. I tried to explain, but no one believed me.

"It's no wonder the orphanage director said you had a bad attitude. You're beyond hope, Frida!" Harvey scolded. "Calla and I were the only ones behind you earlier. What? Are you going to say we pushed you?" He looked at me with disgust as if I were something vile, then grabbed me by the arm and threw me to the floor.

My knee hit the ground hard, and the pain twisted my face into a mask of agony. It made my already pitiful appearance even more pathetic. The stares from everyone around felt like daggers, but the one that cut the deepest came from my family.

My parents gave me a disappointed look before ordering the house help to lock me in the basement. Then they took their "wronged" little princess Calla and flew off to the Maldives that very night, renting a luxurious yacht to celebrate her birthday all over again.

I was left to suffer in the basement.

When I was swapped at birth, I ended up in an orphanage. The director, Bethany Marsden, who seemed so kind on the outside, secretly loved mistreating me. Whenever I made a mistake, she would lock me in a pitch-black room. One could not tell how much time passed in there. Even adults would break down in such a place, let alone a child. I had almost forgotten those dark memories, but what my family did to me brought them all back.

The terror left me screaming desperately. I clawed bloody marks into the basement door as I begged for them to let me out. It proved useless though. And that was when I realized that no one was home. They had abandoned me.

I frantically called Harvey and my parents, even texting them, pleading to be released. However, they had blocked my number. None of my messages or calls got through. They were determined to punish me.

When I was on the brink of breaking down, I suddenly smelled something like rotten eggs—gas.

I quickly realized there was a gas leak, but the door was locked tight. I couldn't escape. I huddled in the corner, trying to cover my nose and mouth with my clothes.

Unfortunately, the lights flicked on, and the entire house exploded. I was thrown several meters and my body was torn up from the blast. I did not even leave a whole corpse behind.

My family knew nothing of what had transpired.

Harvey impatiently pulled out his phone and tried calling me. But my phone was long gone, destroyed in the explosion, so there was no answer.

This had never happened before. I had set special ringtones for each of my family members and always answered right away. For the first time, my radio silence made Harvey frown, a hint of unease crossing his face.

Calla quickly came over when she noticed, looking concerned. "Is Frida mad?"

Harvey's worry vanished instantly as he retorted, "She has the nerve to be mad after what she did? She should be kneeling and apologizing to you! This is your 18th birthday, after all!"

Calla looked sad but still smiled. "It's okay, Harvey. You've already made it up to me. Frida probably didn't mean it." Her words were sweet and considerate, making my parents and brother adore her even more.

Of course, it also made them despise me all the more.

I heard my mother mutter under her breath, "If only Calla were my real daughter... Someone like Frida... Tsk."

Oddly, I didn't feel any sadness upon hearing this. Maybe I had already given up on them. All I felt was confusion. If they didn't love me, why had they gone through the trouble of bringing me home?