Chapter 1

My college-age sister got pregnant out of wedlock. I asked who the guy was, but she refused to say a word. She was dead set on having the baby—this "fruit of their love."

I felt for her. So young, and already showing. I brought her home and waited on her hand and foot.

Then, right before her due date, in front of everyone, she broke down sobbing and confessed. The baby was my husband's.

After all that chaos, I finally understood. My whole family had been treating me like free hired help.

"Say that again. Whose baby is it?"

Even in that standard-issue hospital gown, my sister's pretty face was hard to miss.

She lifted her chin, stubborn and proud, one hand stroking her massive belly with this serene, motherly expression. Her voice cracked as she begged me to accept the child. She said the baby couldn't be born without a father. If I was really her sister, I should put myself in her shoes and think about her future. If word got out that the baby had no dad, imagine the gossip. People would tear me and the child apart behind our backs. How could I be so heartless?

I stood there and listened to every accusation in silence, like I was the one who'd done something shameful.

I forced down the acid burning in my throat, frozen in place. For a moment, I had no idea how to respond. I just looked at our parents, standing beside the hospital bed, my eyes begging them to step in and defend me.

But I never expected this. Even after my sister did something so disgusting, their first instinct was to tell me—the older sister—to be the bigger person. Don't hold it against her.

"There's no hurdle you can't get past." They told me to forgive my sister's youthful mistake.

They also said, "Your father and I are getting old. Your sister can't be left alone. You need to take care of her through her postpartum recovery—don't let her develop any lasting issues. Those are hard to fix later."

Their biased words landed in my ears, and my heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand tiny needles, a dull, throbbing ache.

Because of that one rule—"the older yields to the younger"—my sister has been able to steal everything from me, effortlessly, her whole life, whenever she wanted.

When we were kids, we were poor. Vegetables every day. Only on payday could we afford a rotisserie chicken to improve our diet. But whenever it was time to divide it up, all that was left for me was the dried-out head and the gamey rear end.

In their words: "Your sister's still growing, so she gets the legs and wings. Your dad and I do physical labor, so the meatiest parts are for us to keep up our strength."

Later, even when my sister couldn't finish her portion, Mom never thought to give me even a single bite. Instead, she'd carefully debone the meat, shred it, mix it into my sister's rice, and save it for her to eat the next day.

Even now, whenever there's something good to eat, their first thought is always for my sister.

They spoiled her rotten. With me, they were always extra strict.

If my sister fell behind in school, our parents didn't hesitate to spend big money on elite tutors. If I fell behind, I got scolded. I got the belt. Pain so bad I couldn't sleep all night.

Mom said girls need to be dressed up from a young age, so she bought my sister countless little dresses, a new one for every day. When it was my turn, I had to take old clothes relatives' kids didn't want anymore.

When I got into looks as a teenager and begged my friend to do my makeup, my parents called me a cheap little slut.

I even once suspected Mom had picked up the wrong baby at the hospital. But I didn't find out until I was an adult that Mom gave birth to me in a wheat field. She didn't even make it to the hospital in time.

It's like from the moment I was born, I was destined to be worth less than my sister.

But they could never admit their favoritism. Every time I asked them why they only liked my sister and not me, they'd grab whatever was in reach and hit me, curse me, tell me to stop stirring up trouble.

"I raised you this big—what, I'm the bad guy now? How did I end up raising such an ungrateful brat?"

"When are you finally going to grow up? How old do you have to be to stop competing with your sister for attention?"

My sister stole our parents' love. She stole everything that should have been mine. I never imagined this time, she'd try to steal the place that was supposed to be mine.

But I'm done enduring it. Who made up that rule, anyway? "The older yields to the younger."