A Hand-Me-Down Exposed Mom's Favoritism

I didn't know how I had made it out of the house. Only when the biting cold left my limbs stiff did I realize that I had wandered all the way to the riverbank.

I was wearing the padded jacket Mom had given me last year. When I ran my hand over it, the stuffing inside felt lumpy and matted. I didn't need to guess that Brielle's jacket was warm and soft.

Just then, my phone chimed with a text message from Mom. "Why did you run off to play without saying a word? We're visiting your grandma early tomorrow morning. Don't stay out too late."

She added, "I've washed and pressed your coat again, so remember to wear it tomorrow. It's a token of my love. Don't let our relatives think that I'm treating you poorly."

A token of love? She just wanted me to wear a dead woman's clothes to keep up her act of being "fair".

I lowered my gaze, hiding the hatred burning in my eyes. "Got it, Mom," I replied.

…

The next day, when we arrived at Grandma's house, the place was packed with relatives.

As soon as we walked through the door, Mom shouted, "Come take a look! I bought these new coats for both my daughters. They're exactly the same and cost me tens of thousands of dollars. I've always treated them equally."

Brielle wore her authentic coat, the soft sheen of the cashmere making her look radiant.

My eldest aunt, Jessica Donovan, ran her fingers along Brielle's cuff and praised her. "Oh, Brielle is getting prettier every day. You can tell this coat is expensive just by looking at it. It gives her such a polished look!"

When Aunt Jessica turned and saw me, her smile faltered. She pressed her lips together, showing mild distaste.

"What's wrong with Aria? Why does such a nice coat look so wrinkled on her?" she asked.

My second aunt, Eleanor Donovan, spoke up while snacking. "You're right. She looks like a mess and can't even stand up straight. They're wearing the exact same coat, yet Brielle looks like a princess while Aria looks like…"

She didn't finish her sentence, but I knew whatever word she had in mind wouldn't be a compliment.

Instead of defending me, Mom sided with them. "Well, Aria just doesn't have the luck for nice things. She was born to work hard and can't pull them off. The coat is fine—it's her who's the problem."

As she spoke, she looked me up and down with a mocking expression. Brielle deliberately moved a few steps away, as if she were afraid my bad luck would rub off on her.

The floor heating warmed the room, but a deep chill settled in my heart.

Aunt Eleanor leaned in at some point and frowned as she sniffed my coat. "Aria, did this coat get damp or something? Why does it smell earthy? There's also a… strange, foul odor."

A few nearby relatives sniffed the air and quickly covered their noses. "Yeah, why does it smell like mold?"

Mom's expression changed, and she immediately started explaining loudly, "Eleanor, you don't know what you're talking about! That's the smell of pure wool. It's completely natural!

"The more expensive the wool, the stronger the smell. Brielle's coat has it too, but she covered it with perfume."

At that moment, my nephew, Liam Anderson, who had been playing on the floor, ran over and hugged my leg. Because he was short, his eyes level with the open pocket of my coat.

"Aunt Aria, what's that white thing in your pocket?" he asked.

I paused. I hadn't dared to look closely at the coat since I'd brought it home, so I had no idea that anything was in the pocket.

Mom clearly panicked more than I did. She lunged forward and reached for the pocket. "Oh, it's probably just a packet of desiccant. Let me throw that away for you."

I stepped aside, dodging her hand. Driven by impulse, I reached into the slightly frayed pocket.

With the whole room watching, I pulled the items out and held them up. It was a flattened white carnation and a crumpled memorial card.