His Exclusive Favor

From the moment I was born, my mother never liked me.

I once overheard our elderly neighbor, Julia, saying that when my mother first saw me in the delivery room, she let out a horrified scream, thrashing and nearly rolling off the birthing bed as if I were some kind of plague.

During her postpartum period, she treated me like I was something venomous, refusing to feed me.

She wouldn’t even change my diapers, leaving me soaked for so long that my skin began to rot, until that same kind neighbor took pity and stepped in to help.

Yet, my twin sister, born just minutes after me, was cherished and adored.

She was the treasure in my mother’s eyes, while I was nothing but a weed.

When a big bowl of chicken soup was served, it was placed before my sister, and my mother would lovingly cool each spoonful for her.

I, on the other hand, was left with nothing but plain bread.

Once, she handed over a chicken drumstick, and just as I eagerly reached out my plate, she tossed it to the family dog, muttering, “I’d rather feed the dog than you.”

My sister always got brand-new clothes, and when they were finally outgrown, they were used to wipe down tables before being tossed my way.

If I shed even a single tear, my mother would snatch them back, throwing them straight into the trash.

“Wear it or don’t. I don’t care,” she’d snap.

While my sister never had to lift a finger, I was forced to take on all the chores.

After school, she’d do her homework while I washed clothes.

She’d watch TV while I cooked.

When she slept, I’d stay up late struggling with my own schoolwork.

Originally, my mother didn’t even want to send me to school. She bought a few goats and planned to have me herd them up in the fields.

It wasn’t until a local community organization stepped in that I finally got my chance to attend school, which is why I treasured it all the more.

I studied diligently, believing that if I excelled, maybe – just maybe – my mother would learn to love me.

But when I brought home a perfect score, she wouldn’t even glance at it, crumpling it up and throwing it straight into the trash.

Then, she’d turn around and praise my sister, who had barely managed to pass, rewarding her with a bag of chips I had never tasted.

My mother hated me, always wishing I’d disappear from her sight. The only time she pretended to be a loving parent was when my father was around.

I suspect that if it weren’t for fear of his anger, she would’ve left me at the hospital the day I was born.

My sister, in contrast, grew up plump and radiant, dressed in beautiful dresses like a little princess.

I, on the other hand, malnourished and overworked, was skinny, short, and as tanned as could be – a real “ugly duckling,” as the neighbors would say.

While my mother paraded my sister around to anyone who would listen, she’d keep me at a distance, as if ashamed to acknowledge our connection.

I couldn’t understand it – what had I done wrong?