A Fake Poverty that My Parent Build for Me

Celline couldn't help but laugh out loud. "It's not like I'm some fair-skinned beauty with a noble aura wherever I go, bringing honor to our parents."

"The only reason I still acknowledge you is because I pity you. If I abandoned you completely, my conscience might nag at me."

"I remember Mom and Dad saying you were born with a face full of wrinkles. And now, even after all these years, you haven't grown into anything worthwhile."

"They also said your emotional intelligence is pitifully low and that you have a weak personality."

Her words struck me like a slap across the face. My body trembled and I instinctively took several steps back, nearly losing my balance. She wasn’t wrong.

I was plain-looking—thin, frail and easily lost in a crowd. I never knew how to speak up for myself, never had the grace or charm that drew people in. But I remembered what the professor once said: When life disappoints you, don’t lose your composure.

Swallowing my tears, I forced myself to stay calm. "Fine, fine. Since they love you so much, I won’t fight for it."

"I don’t care about the position of the cherished daughter."

With that, I turned my head and walked away. Behind me, Celline's triumphant laughter rang out, but I refused to let it affect me.

A few days later, while my parents were away on a trip, I completed all the paperwork necessary to leave the country. Before stepping out of the house for the last time, I left a farewell letter on the table. That was the last act I performed as their daughter.

***

Half a month later.

Mom and Dad returned from their business trip, dressed in their usual casual clothes, pushing open the door with bright smiles.

"Little Feather, my sweet girl, Mommy’s home!"

"And Daddy bought you snacks this time. You little glutton, you must be excited!"

But there was no response. There was no daughter running up to greet them with a hug, no cheerful voice saying, "Mommy, Daddy, welcome home!"

No one pouring them a glass of water or massaging their shoulders after their travels.

Only a single letter lay quietly on the table. Dad frowned as he picked it up and unfolded the paper.

[By the time you read this letter, I will be far away.

Celline is beautiful and graceful, the perfect daughter to uphold your reputation.

You chose to favor her, to enrich her and I won’t hold that against you.

But I refuse to let that define me.

I am going to chase my own dreams.

Don’t miss me. Don’t look for me.]

I hadn’t poured my grievances onto the page. What was the point? There had been more than enough pain already.

Dad’s face drained of color.

"This isn’t good!"

"Little Feather is gone!"

"She... she knows about Celline!"