When I was seven, my parents instituted the rule of the chosen. In our house, only one child was allowed to achieve. Only one could be celebrated.
The rest of us, we were the supports. My older brother, Leo, had his soccer cleat thrown in the trash the day our little sister Maya was born. My mother looked him dead in the eye and said, "You've had your turn in the sun, Leo.
Now you exist to make sure she shines. For 12 years, our lives were defined by a chilling manufactured obscurity. Leo and I weren't allowed to display artwork, bring home report cards, or even speak at the dinner table unless Maya spoke to us first.
My dad, completely beaten down by my mother's iron fist, just nodded along, passing the potatoes in absolute silence. Mom loved the control. She'd look at Dad and sneer.
"Isn't it wonderful how peaceful it is when the loser stopped trying? " Mia grew up like a spoiled princess. Mom homeschooled Leo and me, forcing us to do Maya's laundry, clean her room, and type her essays while she went to a prestigious private academy.
Mom even made fake charts, showing how Maya's grades dropped whenever Leo or I tried to join an afterchool club. "Look what your selfishness does to her. " Mom would hiss.
Do you want to ruin her future? I actually believed I was draining her potential. I became obsessed with being invisible, but Maya was a monster.
She'd smash mom's favorite vases and point at me, knowing I wasn't allowed to defend myself. She'd whisper, "You're just my backup singers, and backup singers don't get a microphone. " The breaking point came during Thanksgiving.
Maya was bragging about a track medal I had practically run for her by training her every dawn. Dad tried to gently mention that Leo had won the same medal years ago. Mom slammed her fork down, glaring at Dad until he lowered his head.
Something inside me just snapped. I stood up, knocked my chair back, and screamed, "He was a champion before she was even born. " The fallout was instant.
Maya dropped to the floor, faking a panic attack, crying that my bad energy was choking her. Mom turned on me with pure unadulterated hatred. "You're killing her dream," she shrieked.
They locked me in the attic for 3 days. My extended family called me a family record. I started losing my mind until dad finally broke.
He walked upstairs, [music] unlocked the door, and handed me a duffel bag. He'd been secretly saving cash for years, waiting for one of us to fight back. Leo and I ran away that night.
I'm 21 now, living in Chicago, but the damage is done.
