Intertwined Destinies: The Real and Fake Daughter

My mom frowned angrily and said, "Haven't you played this piece many times? Why can't you still get it? Lydia can play it."

The girl, Lydia Lewis, standing by the piano, was sweet and clever. She had big, bright eyes. She was the daughter of a doctor.

Lydia never got shy when praised and smiled, saying, "It's because you teach well."

Lydia was neither humble nor arrogant. She was about my age but much better at everything.

She actually seemed more like the Jones family's pampered eldest daughter than I did.

In the sixteen years I lived with the Jones family, I always looked up to Dylan.

With Dylan, the genius, ahead of me, I was expected to be just as exceptional when I was born five years after him.

The elders all hoped I would be a prodigy like Dylan.

But I was timid and shy. At my tenth birthday party, I stuttered just trying to speak.

They said we came from the same family but were different. I was not that clever.

Whenever that happened, Dylan would just look at me quietly. His eyes were devoid of emotion.

As I grew older, my parents started showing me disappointed looks more and more often.

On my sixteenth birthday, someone said Lydia looked very much like my mother.

It was weird. Lydia was only half a day younger than me. I was born in the morning, and she was in the afternoon.

This timing became a point of suspicion.

Mother's hand slowly traced Lydia's face, outlining her features.

Her movements were cautious as if handling a rare treasure.

I stood on the outer edge of the crowd watching them.

The princess dress I wore suddenly felt like vines wrapping around me, tightening and suffocating me.

The guests whispered among themselves, turning to look me up and down.

Their gazes were mixed with either pity or ridicule, all weighing down on me.

Lydia buried her head in my mother's arms. She rarely showed such vulnerability, let alone cried in front of so many people.

Just then, Lydia's father, Ian Lewis, the Jones family doctor, suddenly knelt.

He revealed a truth that had been hidden for sixteen years.

It turned out I wasn't the biological daughter of the Jones family. Lydia was.

She was the true eldest daughter of the Jones family. I was just a fake who had stolen sixteen years of her life.

After the DNA results came out, the Jones family took Lydia on a trip to Malachi.

I looked at the band-aid on my hand and stayed silent for a whole day.

Until dusk, when the bright clouds and colors intertwined like a painter's palette.

I left the Jones residence quietly and unnoticed.

3

As night fell, the city's edges blurred. The stars and countless lights lit up.

After cooking dinner, I took out my phone to watch a variety show and found 68 missed calls. It was all from Dawson.

They were from Dylan, and there was a text message.

He said he would come to my place at 10 a.m. tomorrow to talk.

I knew why Dylan was coming. He wanted to tell me the so-called truth, get my forgiveness, and ideally have me donate a kidney.

That would be the perfect ending for everyone.

But I wasn't Isla. I was Vivian.

Neither Isla nor Vivian owed them anything.

At 10 a.m. the next morning, Dylan knocked on my door right on time.

I looked at him through the security door.

In the hallway, light spots from the window fell on Dylan's shoulder. He stayed silent for a long time before speaking.