Substitute No More: The Sister They Lost

The money in my account wasn't enough for a hotel, so I returned to the hospital and curled up on a bench in the hallway. The allergic reaction was getting worse. My breathing became labored, and my whole body burned like it was on fire.

In my dazed state, I had a dream. In it, I was back to being a child.

Back then, my parents would lock me in a pitch-black closet. Belt beatings and cigarette burns were common occurrences. I never understood why they treated me like I wasn't their own daughter.

Until one day, 17-year-old Joseph came across my father beating me and yelling at me on the street. He gave my father a sum of money and picked me up.

"Don't be afraid," he said in a firm and gentle voice. "From now on, I'll be your brother."

He then brought me back to the Sinclair residence, gave me a new name, new clothes, and a new room. Thomas was Joseph's younger brother. He said that from then on, wherever they were would be my home.

During those years, they truly spoiled me like a little princess. That was until Sarah came back.

The images in my dream suddenly twisted. I pushed open a door and saw Sarah crying on the couch. She was dirty all over, and when she looked at me, her eyes were full of hostility.

Joseph held her, comforting her softly. "Don't be afraid. She won't affect your place in this family."

Thomas looked at me with a complicated expression. "Cynthia, this is Sarah, our biological sister."

Only then did I learn that when they rescued me all those years ago, it was because I looked like Sarah, whom they had lost.

After that, they became much colder toward me, but at least they didn't make me leave. I tried hard to please Sarah, thinking sincerity could earn sincerity in return. But she hated me from the very beginning.

"What gives you the right?" she whispered venomously. "You stole my life. I'll make you pay me back double."

After that, she deliberately broke Joseph's antique vase and framed me for it. She faked allergies and accused me of poisoning her. One day, she even grabbed my hand on the staircase and pushed herself down, then screamed, "Cynthia, why did you push me?"

And every time, Joseph and Thomas happened to witness it. She would cry and say, "I didn't mean to steal Cynthia's affection..."

"A fake should be grateful just to stay in this house," Joseph said coldly. "How dare you hurt my real sister?"

Gradually, everything that once belonged to me disappeared. When Sarah's friends bullied me at school, they turned a blind eye. When I was starving with stomach pains at home, they never noticed that Sarah was throwing away my food.

My pancreatic cancer probably started around that time. But at least back then, they hadn't started to hit me yet.

It started that day when Sarah said there was a stray cat in the attic. She wanted to stay and check on the situation, so she asked me to get some tools. When I returned carrying the heavy toolbox, I saw our two furious brothers holding Sarah, who had cried herself to exhaustion.

"Cynthia! How dare you?" Joseph's eyes were blazing with anger.

"Don't you know Sarah has claustrophobia and a panic disorder? You locked her in here. Were you trying to kill her?"

I frantically explained that Sarah had never told me about these conditions, but they didn't believe me at all. Even the gentle Thomas looked at me with nothing but cold hatred. That was the first time they hit me.