My Brother Blamed Me for Our Parents' Death

"If it had been her who died in that car accident, my parents wouldn’t have had to lose their lives saving her."

"She’s nothing but a curse."

The voice wasn’t loud, but every word stabbed into my heart like a knife.

I had thought about this countless times over the years.

If only I had been the one who died that day. Maybe that would’ve been better.

Once, I had a happy and fulfilling life.

I was cherished by my parents and adored by my brother.

They spoiled me like a little princess, letting me do whatever I pleased.

But that kind of life only lasted for fifteen years.

Because when I turned fifteen, Leigh came into our home.

She was an orphan—someone my parents met during a charity visit to an orphanage.

There, she had been isolated and secretly bullied by others.

My mother felt pity for her and brought her home, saying she’d raise her until she turned eighteen. She promised to support her through college and until she found a job.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Just one more plate at the dinner table.

But six months later, I noticed something had changed.

Leigh became the standard I was measured against.

My mother would touch my forehead gently and say, "Ada, look how thoughtful Leigh is. You're growing up too—don’t be so stubborn anymore."

My father would comment, "Ada, Leigh studies until midnight. You should learn to take your homework seriously too."

Even my brother added, "Leigh picked up the piano so quickly. She can play ten songs in under two weeks. Not like someone who said she’d learn and then left the piano to collect dust."

From then on, whatever I failed at, Leigh would excel in.

She became the “ideal daughter” everyone talked about.

At our high school graduation party, she was honored as the top graduate and gave a speech on stage.

My parents and brother were all there that night. They didn’t return until past midnight.

But they forgot something important.

That day was my birthday.

The cake I waited for had already melted.

When they finally came home, I angrily threw the cake at Leigh. "Let her go. I want her out of this house."

"Fine. If you won’t let her leave, then I will."

I shoved past them and ran barefoot into the streets, wandering around the city until my parents found me.

They apologized.

They promised they’d never neglect me again or compare me to Leigh.

They said they’d send her off to college after summer.

I finally smiled. But at that very moment, a truck lost control and sped toward us.

When I came to, I was in my parents’ arms. They were holding me.

I survived. But they never spoke another word again.

I didn’t attend their funeral.

My brother wouldn’t let me.

His red, furious eyes burned into me: "Why wasn’t it you who died? Why?!"

"Get lost, you selfish thing. You don’t deserve to say goodbye."

I sat in the chair, shaking my head, trying to force out memories like poison.

But it didn’t help. They coiled around me like venomous snakes, tightening, choking me.

After a long time, I looked at my lifeless, pale face in the mirror and smiled.

Finally, I can finally see them again and say sorry face to face.

I was hungry and wanted to find something to eat, but when I entered the kitchen, I only found the leftovers Allan and Leigh had left on the table.