Her Three Toasts, My Final Goodbye

“In my opinion, you’re just too selfish. Your sister is far more considerate than you.”

I looked at the bag of pork dumplings and felt nauseated.

When I set the bag aside and headed straight into the kitchen to cook, she grew agitated.

“Your sister and I thought of you, and this is the attitude you give us?”

I kept my expression flat.

“I don’t eat pork dumplings.”

As a child, I loved meat, but Mom thought it was too expensive.

So she would always buy fatty cuts of pork that others didn’t want.

I couldn’t stomach the fat and would throw up every time.

She would just frown and call me picky and dramatic.

From then on, I never touched pork dumplings or any fatty meat again.

“You just have to nitpick, don’t you? Turning good intentions into insults! I told you your sister shouldn’t bother being nice to you!”

From the corner of my eye, I caught Emily smirking at me with satisfaction.

“Sophia, why can’t you just eat what’s given to you? Mom bought you something nice, and you won’t eat it—aren’t you only making things harder on yourself?”

I gave a short laugh.

“Dumplings count as something nice? I remember Mom often sneaking you out to restaurants. Don’t tell me she never bought you anything better.”

Yes, for Emily, Mom always spared no expense.

When I was eating pickles with bread, she was feeding Emily the most expensive formula.

When I thought cafeteria noodles were a treat, Mom was already taking her out for barbecue.

Emily hated fat, so Mom would carefully trim it away. She ate meat every meal, while I got whatever vegetables were left over.

All because, as the older sister, I was expected to yield to her.

Later, Mom even pointed at me in front of relatives and complained:

“Why doesn’t this child ever want to eat something good? Emily just loves meat.”

“I guess that’s just fate. Emily was born lucky.”

“Sophia was just born to suffer.”

But was that suffering my choice?

Ignoring their colorful faces, I dragged my suitcase out the door.

Their curses were shut behind it.

And I felt nothing but exhilaration.

I thought I could spend the last few days in peace, but the next evening at the hotel, scrolling through videos, I saw my mom again.

This time she wasn’t doing the “Three Glasses of Wine” toast.

Instead, she posted two clips accusing her eldest daughter—me—of terrible behavior in the past two days.

Both went viral.

As a “suffering mother,” she drew endless sympathy, and many urged her to livestream and chat about it.

So there she was, on livestream, speaking passionately.

“We mothers are too forgiving. If I’d known she’d turn out this way, I’d never have given birth to her!”

Beside her, Emily played the role of innocent little angel, handing her water with just the right touch of pity, moving the viewers to tears.

“Good thing you have another daughter, otherwise you’d be heartbroken.”

“Right, if this were ancient times, that eldest daughter would’ve been cast out by family law long ago. How dare she act so arrogantly today?”

The comments flooded in.

Some even dug up my photos, my college, and where I worked.

A few went so far as to find my phone number, sending abusive texts and calling to harass me.

The mother and daughter were delighted, though they acted pitiful, thanking viewers for “standing up for them.”

Just before the livestream ended, a famous influencer entered the room.

“Hello, I’ve got a reality show about families that would be perfect for you. Would you consider coming on so we can talk things through with your eldest daughter?”

“Of course, of course!” Mom said eagerly, nodding nonstop, even suggesting Emily join too.

“In a family, there are no grudges that last overnight. Emily and I have never given up on her!”