10
Lily and I were identical twins.
Prematurely born, she weighed four pounds
and two ounces, I weighed four pounds and
eight ounces.
She had congenital heart and lung problems
and spent a month in an incubator.
I was weak, but otherwise healthy.
Before the age of one, Lily was in the ICU
several times due to pneumonia and heart
failure, each time close to death.
Dad’s business was booming, but all his
money went to Lily’s treatment.
Mom, who had experienced postpartum
hemorrhage, took Lily to see doctors.
After three open–heart surgeries, Lily’s
condition gradually improved.
I was left with a nanny, never breastfed, never
held by my parents.
Grandma once scolded Mom in front of
relatives, saying she couldn’t even carry a
child properly.
Later, seeing Lily, smaller than her peers,
Mom began to endlessly blame herself.
She recounted everything from her
pregnancy.
Wondering what caused Lily’s poor
Secondhand smoke in a taxi, ice cream, or a
bowl of unfinished health soup.
She became afraid of anything that might
endanger Lily.
Those words reminded her of the risk consent
forms she signed before each of Lily’s
surgeries.
She would lock herself in the bathroom and
cry for hours.
Someone suspected postpartum depression,
comforting her:
“One mother nourishing one child is hard, you
carried twins, the stronger one took more
nutrients, it’s not your fault.”
This casual remark gave Mom an outlet.
The six ounces difference at birth became
proof of my bullying.
Even though I was also a low–birth–weight
baby.
LL
4
1
From then on, every day I lived became a sin.
To appease Mom, Dad became distant from
me, showering Lily with love.
“Carolyn, I took your mom to a psychologist,
she has bipolar disorder, and high scores for
paranoia and delusions of persecution. I know
you hate Lily and your mom, but now Lily’s
gone, and Mom’s suffering so much, it’s hard
for me too. Can you understand?”
Dad pursed his lips, sighing, burdened by
endless troubles.
He warmed a carton of milk and gave it to
- me.
My stomach churned.
I finally understood the reason for my
discomfort.
“Dad, that’s your conclusion, for me to
understand you? Then who understands my
pain? Didn’t you notice you were the most
negligent in this family?”
Meeting Dad’s shocked gaze, I raised my
voice.
“A woman who just escaped death had to
take her newborn to see doctors, bear the
risk of her daughter dying on the operating
table, then get publicly scolded by her
mother–in–law! When she was pushed to the
limit, her twisted emotions became her
support. But in the end, she was overwhelmed
by her emotions, everyone, including me,
thinks she’s crazy! So, Dad, where were you
all this time?”
Dad’s face changed; he threw the food tray to
the ground.
“Carolyn, you’re crazy too, right? Do you think
money falls from the sky? Lily’s illness, the
house, everything, did it fall from the sky? I’m
so unlucky…”
He stopped.
Because those “benefits” I never experienced.
Ironically, my suffering became the basis for
my accusations.
“Yes, Dad, you’re the great hero of the Miller
family! You mean, our family’s situation isn’t
karma, it’s unfair fate, right!”
Dad glared at me.
The same look from when I asked about
favoritism.
He stormed out.
I vomited in the bathroom.
