My Parents Sold My Future For Her Convenience Chapter 01
The day SAT scores came out, my mother, Margaret,
actually carried a plate of fruit into my room.
Before I could even feel happy about it, I heard her words.
“Your father and I talked it over. We want you and Bianca
to apply to the same college and major.”
“That way, you can keep looking out for her through
college. And it’ll be easier for us when we pick you
for breaks.”
both up
I looked up in disbelief.
“Mom, I got a 1580 and Bianca only got 1050. You seriously
want us to go to the exact same college?”
My mother’s face went cold. She frowned at me like I was
being unreasonable.
“If you’re really that good a student, it doesn’t matter
which college you go to.”
“Enough. Don’t make a scene. Your father and I have
already decided.”
Before she could turn and leave, I spoke up.
“What if I say I don’t agree?”
She didn’t even look back. Her voice was certain.
“Then don’t expect a single cent of tuition from us.”
I stood there, my body trembling beyond my control.
My lips parted and closed for a long time. Finally, I asked
the question I’d buried for years.
“Mom, Bianca’s your daughter. So am I not your daughter
too?”
The woman walking away didn’t answer. She just slammed
the door so hard the whole room shook.
Through the wall, I could still hear her complaining to
someone.
“I only asked her to go to the same college as her sister,
and she acts like I’m torturing her.”
“I’ve never once skimped on her meals or anything all
these years! The nerve of her asking if she’s even our
daughter hurt my heart something awful!”
“Besides, it’s just common sense for an older sister to look
out for her little sister. She’s the only one so spoiled,
always picking fights with her sister.”
My nails dug into my palms. I dropped my head and
forced a bitter smile.
It was always the same speech, my whole life. Because I
was the older sister, I had to be sensible. I had to give in to
my sister.
So the good food always went to Bianca first. New clothes
always went to Bianca first.
Even when she tore up my certificates or cut up my dresses, I wasn’t allowed to say a word against it:
But Mom, I was only born an hour earlier than she was.
In the dark room, backlit and suffocating, I hugged myself
and sat in silence for a long, long time.
Finally, I picked up my phone and made a call.
“Mr. Wale, the university you mentioned before can I still
apply?”
He was excited.
“Of course, Celia! You finally agreed. They came to us specifically because of your competition record.”
“They’re offering a full ride! Tuition, fees, everything.
People would kill for this spot.”
“Hold on, let me go tell them the news.”
After I hung up, I smiled. Something in my chest felt
suddenly lighter.
Like the worm that had been gnawing at my heart since
childhood had finally lost its food source.
My phone buzzed. I opened it, a text from my older brother, Riven.
A Venmo notification for $702, followed by a
pat–on–the–head emoji.
[Way to go, Celia! Pulling off such an amazing score really
makes me proud!]
My chest warmed. I wiped the tears off my face and texted
back: [Thanks, Riven.]
He replied fast:
[Just pulled up to the house. Open up! Got surprises for
you and Bianca!]
I cracked my bedroom door open and peeked out.
In the living room, my mother Margaret was shoving a giant bowl of washed cherries into Bianca’s hands in a hurry.
“Hurry up, take these to your room and eat them in secret.”
“If your greedy sister sees them, there won’t be any left for you.”