They Told Everyone I Was Adopted, I Was Their Real Daughter Chapter 02
The next day, the security clearance officer called. They were willing to give me another chance.
I went downstairs to let my parents know. “The officers are coming to my high school tomorrow afternoon. Don’t forget to be there.”
Mom was on the couch feeding fruit to Zoe. She didn’t even turn around.
I said it again.
She waved me off. “I heard you. Stop nagging. Clean the table—we have guests coming.”
“I have to talk to my advisor about my thesis. Zoe is free.”
“Your sister hurt her finger. She can’t work. Go do it.”
Zoe hurt her finger in middle school. Mom still remembers. She forgot that I broke my wrist in a car accident last month. The pins are still in.
Soon, Mom’s coworker arrived. She took one look at Zoe and gushed, “Oh, your Zoe is so beautiful—she could be a model!”
Zoe smiled, elegant and composed. Mom beamed with pride.
The aunt glanced at me. “Get me a glass of water. Warm.”
I paused, then went to the kitchen.
Their voices carried: “So this is the one you adopted? She doesn’t hold a candle to Zoe.”
“Right. No manners, doesn’t even know how to greet people properly. We’ve spoiled her.”
I tightened my grip on the glass. “I’m not adopted. I’m their biological daughter.”
Zoe’s face went pale.
The aunt stammered.
Mom snapped at me: “Gia, what are you saying!”
Then she turned to the aunt, forcing a laugh. “She’s just jealous of her sister.”
I said, calmly, “Check the family records if you don’t believe me.”
After the guest left, Zoe glared at me, eyes red. She slammed into my shoulder as she stormed up the stairs. My wrist hit the table corner. I doubled over in pain.
Mom didn’t look at me. She chased Zoe, cooing, “Zoe!”
A moment later, Zoe appeared at the second-floor railing, holding my rocket model. The one I’d saved all semester to buy. She raised her hand and smashed it on the floor.
The crash echoed through the room. Plastic pieces scattered everywhere.
I looked up at her. “That was mine.”
Mom’s face went dark. “It’s just a model. Do you really have to fight with your sister over it? If you hadn’t embarrassed her in front of the guest, she wouldn’t have gotten so upset.”
“It’s mine. She has no right to touch it.”
Mom shielded Zoe behind her. “What do you mean, yours? We paid for it. If you think you can do better, don’t ask us for money.”
The cold went all the way through me.
They give me eight hundred dollars a month for living expenses—to “teach me independence.” They give Zoe five thousand dollars a month, plus full reimbursement for everything else.
I paid for that model myself. Not a cent from them.
No one noticed my bleeding wrist. No one asked if it hurt.
I had nothing left to say.
Mom pulled Zoe close, stroking her hair. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. That bag you wanted just came in. Mom will buy it for you.”
On her way downstairs, Zoe crushed the model fragments under her heel and shot me a smug look.
I knelt and picked up the broken pieces, one by one. I couldn’t put them back together.
I remembered, years ago, how I called her “sister” in front of her friends. That night, she cut my favorite plush toy to shreds.
I wiped my eyes and told myself again: Gia. Don’t be soft. Get out of this cage.
