No Longer Family: The Prodigy's Revenge

After I died, my parents signed the papers without hesitating.

They harvested my retinas.

They gave them to her. Felicity. Their precious, fragile adopted daughter.

With me gone, the three of them finally became the perfect family they always wanted.

I spent an entire lifetime fighting Felicity for scraps of affection, only to die with absolutely nothing. Cold. Alone. Forgotten.

But then I opened my eyes.

I am back. And this time? I am living for myself.

I just didn't expect my decision to live for myself to accidentally lead to a happy ending.

Chapter 1

I woke up. Seven years old again.

The exact day Felicity arrived.

If I had come back just a little sooner, maybe I could have changed history. Saved her biological parents. Or maybe threatened to kill myself to stop Christopher and Patricia from bringing her home.

Too late. She was already standing in the hallway.

Felicity. The daughter of Christopher's mentor. A famous painter's miracle baby. She had the artistic genius, but she also had the curse. A rare, degenerative eye disease. Blindness wasn't an if for herit was a when.

Her parents died in an accident looking for a cure, leaving her all alone.

Tragic backstory? Check. Christopher and Patricia took one look at her and melted. They didn't just want to adopt her. They wanted to replace me.

"Campbell, sweetie," Patricia cooed, her eyes practically heart-shaped as she looked at me. "You always wanted a big sister, right? Felicity is going to be your real sister now. Aren't you excited?"

In my first life, seven-year-old me beamed. I thought I was getting a best friend. A partner in crime. I was ready to share everything with this gentle, sad-eyed girl.

I didn't know I was letting a parasite into the house. Felicity didn't want to share the love. She wanted to consume it. All of it.

"Campbell," Christopher chimed in, voice stern but warm. "We know you're a big girl. Felicity is... fragile. Even though you're younger, we need you to help us take care of her. Can you do that for Daddy?"

I didn't even get a breath out to answer.

Tears. Instant, crystal-clear tears welled up in Felicity's eyes.

"I know Campbell hates me," she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to break a heart. "Who wants to share their mommy and daddy? It's okay. I... I'll just go to the orphanage. I don't want to be a burden."

Sometimes I swear she time-traveled too. No eight-year-old is this calculated. I hadn't said a single word, and she had already painted me as the jealous villain.

Patricia gasped, lunging forward to wipe Felicity's face like she was handling antique glass.

"Oh, honey, don't cry! It's bad for your eyes!" She pulled her close. "And stop calling us Auntie and Uncle. We're Mom and Dad now. We chose you."

Felicity looked up. Wet lashes. Quivering lip. She looked like a kicked puppy that had just been offered a steak.

"I... I have a mommy and daddy?"

They collapsed into a group hug. A perfect triangle of sobbing emotion.

No one asked me if I was okay. No one looked at me.

Felicity had them. Hook, line, and sinker.

Chapter 2

That night, they shoved us into the same room.

"Bonding time," Patricia had chirped.

I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned. Sleep? Impossible. My brain was a war room, mapping out escape routes. I needed money. I needed independence. I needed to get the hell out of this house before it suffocated me again.

I knew how this movie ended. From the second Felicity walked through the front door, Christopher, Patricia, and even my brother Brody became NPCs in her game. She owned them.

2:00 AM.

The mattress shifted.

I narrowed my eyes, feigning sleep. Felicity slid out of bed. No stumbling. No hesitation. She moved through the pitch-black room with the confidence of a cat, heading straight for my parents' bedroom down the hall.

A second later, the wailing started.

"Mommy! Daddy! It hurts! It's so dark! I'm scared!"

The scream shattered the silence.

I lay there, marveling at the logic hole my parents were about to ignore.

My parents, whose heads were completely clouded by sympathy, didn't stop to think.

If she was having a sudden blindness attack in a brand-new house, how did she navigate a hallway she had never walked before without bumping into a single wall?

But logic doesn't work on Christopher and Patricia.

Footsteps thundered. Doors flew open.

"We're here! Felicity, baby, we're here!"

I could hear the frantic shuffling, the murmur of comfort. They were probably holding her like she was made of spun sugar.

"Mommy... Daddy..." Felicity's voice trembled, pitch-perfect victimhood. "Can I really stay here? I don't want to cause trouble... sniff... Campbell said..."

She let the sentence hang. The deadliest kind of cliffhanger.

My stomach dropped.

The door to our room slammed open. The light blinded me.

Christopher stormed in. He didn't look like my dad. He looked like an executioner.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't ask for my side. He marched over, gripped my arm, and yanked me out of bed.

"What did you say to her?!" His voice was a growl, shaking the walls. "How can you be so cruel? Felicity is sick! She has nobody! Can't you just grow up and be kind for once?"

"Christopher, stop! She's just a child!" Patricia's voice drifted from the hallway, weak and useless.

She was hugging Felicity. Shielding her. She didn't even look at me.

"She needs to learn!" Christopher dragged me into the hallway and shoved me. I stumbled on the cold hardwood.

"Go to your room? No. You stay out here until you learn some empathy."

Slam.

The lock clicked. A final, metallic sound that severed me from the warmth.

I stood there in my thin cotton pajamas. The air conditioning hummed, blasting freezing air directly onto my skin. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.

In the old days, Patricia would check on me three times a night. She would tuck me in. She would kiss my forehead.

Now? They forgot I was seven. They forgot I was afraid of the dark. They forgot I was their daughter.

Dj vu hit me hard. This was the script. This was exactly how it happened in my first life.

First, the fake eye pain. Then, the sob story. Then, the vague accusation that painted me as a monster.

In my last life, this was the beginning of the end. From this night on, I wasn't the precious daughter anymore. I was the bad seed. The jealous brat. The bully.

I spent that entire lifetime trying to prove them wrong. I fought Felicity for every inch of ground. If she got a dress, I demanded one. If she cried, I screamed.

I played right into her hands. She was the fragile angel; I was the hysterical villain.

By the time we were teenagers, the entire art world knew the narrative: The Li family had a tragic, genius adopted daughter named Felicity, and a talentless, vicious biological daughter named Campbell.

I lost everything. Even Brody, the brother who used to carry me on his shoulders, eventually fell completely under Felicity's spell.

I stared at the closed door. I could hear them inside, murmuring soft comforts to Felicity.

I stopped shivering. The cold didn't bother me anymore. The numbness was better. It was armor.

I am done fighting, Felicity. You can have them. You can have the love, the pity, the drama.

In this life, I am not playing the villain. I am playing the ghost. And ghosts don't care about family dinners. They just walk through walls and leave.

Chapter 3

The next morning, laughter floated up the stairs. The sound of silverware clinking against china. The hum of a happy family.

It made my stomach turn.

I walked down to the dining room. The air was warm, smelling of bacon and maple syrup.

Then I saw her.

Felicity was sitting in my chair.

Not just my chair. She was drinking from my favorite mugthe hand-painted one I had saved my allowance for. She was using my fork.

I stopped in the doorway.

The laughter died instantly. The room went silent. The temperature dropped ten degrees.

It felt like I had just walked into a stranger's house uninvited.

Patricia looked up, her smile faltering into an awkward grimace.

"Oh! Campbell! You're up... early." She glanced nervously at Felicity, then back at me. "Felicity didn't have her own place setting yet, so she borrowed yours. Just grab Brody's plate from the cupboard, okay?"

I stared at the mug in Felicity's hands. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, but I kept my face blank.

"No thanks," I said, my voice flat. "I don't like taking things that belong to other people."

The sentence hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

Everyone heard the subtext. I am not a thief like her.

Christopher's face darkened. The vein in his temple throbbed. He was clearly still simmering from last night's bullying incident.

I scanned the table.

Pancakes drowning in butter. Cheesy scrambled eggs. A tall glass of whole milk sitting right at my empty spot.

My gut clenched just looking at it.

I am severely lactose intolerant. One glass of that milk and I would be curled in the fetal position for hours. Usually, Mom made me oatmeal.

Today? It was a dairy festival. A feast for Felicity. Poison for me.

Patricia followed my gaze and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh my god. The milk. I completely forgot, sweetie! You can't drink that." She scrambled up, looking flushed. "Sit down, I'll... I'll blend you some soy milk right now!"

She was panicking. Not because she hurt me, but because her bias was showing.

Slam.

Christopher brought his coffee mug down hard. Brown liquid sloshed onto the tablecloth.

"Enough!" he barked, glaring at me. "Why are you so high-maintenance? Your mother is running around like a servant because you're too picky! You have been spoiled rotten your whole life. Look at Felicityshe is grateful for anything!"

He checked his watch, dismissing me entirely. "We don't have time for this drama. We have to get Felicity enrolled in school."

In my last life, that would have broken me. I would have screamed. I would have flipped the plate. I would have cried until I threw up.

Now?

I felt nothing. Just a hollow, cold void where my heart used to be.

I sat down at the corner of the tablethe guest spot. I didn't touch the food.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Felicity bury her face in her sandwich. But just before she took a bite, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

A smirk. Cold, victorious, and meant only for me.

Then, she looked up. The smirk vanished, replaced instantly by a look of tragic sorrow.

"Daddy, please don't yell at Campbell," she whimpered, her voice soft and trembling. "She can't help it. She's used to being the princess. It just proves how much you guys love her. Unlike... unlike me."

She looked down at her plate, shrinking in on herself. "I'm just happy to be here."

Bullseye.

Patricia's eyes welled up. Christopher's expression softened from rage to heartbreak.

"Oh, you angel," Patricia whispered, reaching out to stroke Felicity's hair.

They looked at her with adoration. Then they looked at me with heavy, exhausted disappointment.

Why can't you be more like her?

I didn't care.

I really, truly didn't care.

In my past life, I destroyed myself trying to win them back. I fought for their attention. I begged for their validation.

Not this time.

I could have played the game. I could have pretended to be the dumb, obedient little sister. I could have fought for the scraps of affection they dropped off Felicity's table.

But I didn't want scraps.

I watched them fuss over her, watched Felicity soak up the love she had stolen.

She could have it. She could have the love, the validation, the fake family.

She fought so hard to steal this life from me. I was going to show her that the prize she cheated for was worthless.

Chapter 4

By the time the happy family returned from the school registrar, I had already vacated my bedroom.

I hauled my life down the hall into the cramped, unused nanny's suite. It wasn't an act of charity. I wasn't giving Felicity my space; I was building a perimeter. I needed walls between us.

Christopher found me unpacking boxes. He smiled, a soft, proud look that made my skin crawl. He patted my head like I was a well-trained golden retriever.

"Campbell, you are so sensible. That is my good girl."

Seven-year-old me would have preened at that praise. But the twenty-five-year-old living inside this body heard the silent terms and conditions: You are a good daughter only when you suffer in silence for her.

Felicity didn't wait for an invitation. She breezed into my new, smaller sanctuary.

Her eyes scanned the room and landed on the corner. My art station. The professional-grade easel, the imported oils, the brushes Christopher had bought me before she arrived.

The color drained from her face. It was a theatrical, instant pallor.

She stumbled back, collapsing dramatically into Patricia's arms.

"I... I wish I could just paint," she choked out, burying her face in Patricia's sweater. "I wish I could be carefree like Campbell. I wish I didn't have to worry about the dark coming..."

Patricia froze. She looked at the sobbing girl in her arms, then at me. She chewed her lip, the guilt warring with her obsession.

Obsession won.

"Campbell..." Patricia's voice was pleading. "I am so sorry, honey. But... could we maybe pack the paints away? Just for now? Seeing them... it just reminds Felicity of what she is losing."

My chest tightened. Here it was. The shrinking.

Since the moment Felicity arrived, my existence had to contract to make room for her tragedy. I wasn't allowed to have hobbies. I wasn't allowed to have dreams. If I shined too bright, it might hurt her eyes.

It was the same in my first life.

Felicity couldn't strain her vision, so I wasn't allowed to paint for long periods either. Solidarity, they called it.

I was the daughter of a famous painter, yet I had to smuggle sketchbooks like contraband. I couldn't take classes. I couldn't buy supplies.

Meanwhile, Felicity sat in the studio with Christopher. He guided her hand. He praised her tortured genius. He framed her sketches in gold leaf and hung them in the hallway.

My art? It rotted at the bottom of a locked chest.

The memory of the ultimate betrayal clawed its way up my throat.

The Art Academy entrance exam. The most important day of our lives.

Mid-test, Felicity's eyes hurt. She couldn't finish. So, in the chaos of collection, she swapped our canvases.

When the acceptance list was posted, I stared at the top entry.

Felicity Li.

But the portfolio image next to it was mine. My brushstrokes. My soul on canvas.

I dragged my parents to the board. I screamed the truth. I begged them to fix it.

They didn't look at the evidence. They looked at Felicity, who was weeping on the floor, crying as if her life was ending because she didn't want to be blind and a failure.

Christopher had gripped my shoulders, his eyes hard.

"Campbell, stop it. You can just apply next year. You have time. Felicity doesn't. You know her clock is ticking. She needs this win before she goes blind."

"She has been through so much hell," Patricia had sobbed, shielding the thief. "Just let her have this! You are talented, you will get in next time!"

Easy for them to say. They didn't see me painting by candlelight for years, ruining my own eyes, desperate to hone a craft they forbade me from practicing.

I remembered the sound of my own voice that day, raw and broken, screaming until my throat bled.

"She stole my parents! She stole my home! Is that not enough? Does she have to steal my entire future too?!"

I pointed a shaking finger at them.

"Give me my name back. Or I leave this house and never come back."

Chapter 5

My rebellion didn't get me an apology. It got me a backhand across the face from a father who was ashamed of his own guilt.

Crack.

The sound was louder than the pain. My cheek burned like I had leaned against a hot stove. I stumbled back, clutching my face, staring up at my father.

Christopher loomed over me, his face twisted in ugly, red-faced rage.

"You think you actually beat her?" he spat, spit flying. "If Felicity's eyes weren't failing, she would have crushed you! You have zero talent, Campbell. Even if you go to that academy, you will just be the charity case. The bottom of the barrel."

I stood there, vibrating with shock. My own father. The man who taught me how to hold a brush.

In the end, he won. Felicity took my name. She took my spot at the university.

I stayed behind. I became the punchline of the elite art circle. The bitter, talentless biological daughter who lost to the blind prodigy. I watched my dreams rot while I lived a grey, empty life.

The memory faded, leaving the taste of ash in my mouth.

Back in the nanny's room, I looked at the easel. The expensive oils. The canvas.

I didn't feel the spark anymore. I just felt tired.

I grabbed the entire setthe paints, the brushes, everythingand walked to the trash can.

Clatter. Thud.

I dumped it all. Right in front of them.

Christopher's face went black. He opened his mouth to yell, to call me ungrateful, but the words died in his throat. Even he felt the weight of it. He had stolen my room. He had stolen my passion. He couldn't steal my dignity too.

He didn't say a word. He just grabbed Felicity's shoulder and marched her out of the room.

Summer hit. And so did Brody.

My older brother returned from boarding school abroad. The golden boy. He came back for one reason: to meet the new miracle sister.

History repeated itself with nauseating accuracy.

Brody walked into the foyer, dropping his bags. Felicity was waiting. But she wasn't just standing there.

She had a silk scarf tied tightly around her eyes.

She was stumbling around the living room, hands outstretched, grasping at the air like a tragic heroine in a soap opera.

"Oh!"

She tripped on nothing.

Brody lunged forward, catching her just before she hit the floor.

Felicity gasped, clutching his lapels. She tilted her head up, the blindfold stark against her pale skin. She looked defenseless. Beautiful. Broken.

"I... I'm sorry." Felicity blushed, speaking in a sugary, coquettish voice. "I'm just practicing. I need to learn how to live in the dark... so I won't be a burden to Mommy, Daddy, and Big Brother when the lights go out forever."

It was a masterclass.

In one sentence, she erased me from the family unit and painted herself as a saintly martyr.

Brody was stunned. He stared down at this fragile, broken bird in his arms. I saw the shift in his eyes. The protective instinct kicking into overdrive.

He was hooked.

"Let's go out!" Patricia chirped, clapping her hands, desperate to cement this perfect family dynamic. "A welcome home dinner for Brody! A fun day at the pier!"

I stayed silent. I had zero interest in playing the villain in their sitcom.

But Felicity couldn't let me fade into the background. She needed a target.

She shrank into the corner, tears already falling like little pearls.

"No... you guys go. Take Brody and Campbell. If I go... I'll just be a downer. I'm not really family..."

Brody's head snapped up. Panic flashed in his eyes. He rushed over, reaching out to wipe a tear from her cheek.

"Don't ever say that. You are family."

Felicity flinched away from his touchjust enough to look terrified. Then, she cast a quick, fearful glance at me.

It was subtle. It was lethal.

Brody followed her gaze. He shot me a vicious look.

"Campbell!" he barked, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "What the hell did you do to her? Why are you bullying her? You used to be cool. Now you're just... toxic."

Chapter 6

Me? I changed?

I almost laughed. It would have been a bitter, ugly sound.

The people standing in front of me were strangers. The mom who used to check for monsters under my bed? Gone. The dad who was strict but fair? Gone. The brother who promised to beat up anyone who made me cry?

He was standing right there, winding up to be the one making me cry.

I didn't flinch. I looked straight into Brody's furious eyes.

"Why don't you ask Felicity?" I said, my voice ice cold. "Go ahead. Ask her exactly how I bullied her. I gave up my bedroom. I moved into the servant's quarters. What else does she want? My kidney? My blood?"

Silence.

Brody turned to Felicity.

She didn't answer. She just shrank back, avoiding his gaze, chewing on her lip like a nervous tic.

Guilt? No. Calculation.

But to Brody, she looked like a frightened deer. And I was the hunter.

"It's your attitude!" he shouted, veins popping in his neck. "Look at you! You act like you're better than her! She just got here, Campbell! You are supposed to yield to her! It is basic decency!"

Yield. That was the word of the decade. Yield to Felicity.

"Campbell, please," Patricia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Brody is only home for a few days. Don't ruin this. Just apologize to your brother and sister so we can eat."

Apologize?

I looked at them. Really looked at them.

Christopher, checking his watch. Patricia, fretting over the peace, not the justice. Brody, chest heaving with righteous indignation for a girl he met twenty minutes ago.

"She can have the room," I said, my voice steady. "She can have the clothes. She can have the attention. I don't want any of it. But an apology?"

I stepped back, gripping the doorknob.

"Not in this lifetime."

Slam.

I turned the lock.

Outside, Brody was screaming. He kicked the door once, a heavy thud that shook the frame. Then, muffled voices. Christopher telling him to let it go. Patricia cooing at Felicity.

Ten minutes later, the front door opened and closed.

Silence.

They left. They went to the pier. They went to dinner. They went to celebrate the family reunion.

They didn't knock. They didn't call. They didn't even leave me a slice of pizza.

In my last life, I would have starved myself. I would have sat in the dark, crying, waiting for them to come home and feel bad. I would have staged a hunger strike just to get Patricia to look at me.

Spoiler alert: It never worked. It just gave me gastritis.

I walked to the kitchen. Boiled water. Made instant ramen.

I sat at the empty table, slurping noodles and reading a textbook I had hidden under my mattress.

Since waking up in this seven-year-old body, I hadn't wasted a second. I had a twenty-five-year-old brain and a burning need for financial freedom.

I wasn't going to be an artist this time. Art was subjective. Art was political. Art was something Christopher could control.

I needed something undeniable. Something they couldn't touch.

Medicine.

I devoured books. I studied while Felicity played house.

School became my battleground. And it was a massacre.

The curriculum for a seven-year-old? A joke. I wasn't just passing; I was setting records.

Felicity? Not so much.

Her fragile victim act worked on parents, but it didn't work on Scantron sheets. She failed tests. Consistently.

Every time a report card came out, the waterworks started.

"My eyes..." she would sob, clutching her head. "I couldn't see the numbers... the letters were swimming..."

Christopher and Patricia would melt, writing notes to the teachers, demanding extra time, demanding leniency. But Felicity refused to go to a special needs school. That wouldn't fit her aesthetic. She had to be the tragic genius in the regular system.

So, exam weeks were hell. The house was a war zone of weeping and excuses.

Then came the Parent-Teacher Conferences.

I was top of the grade. Valedictorian track, even in elementary school.

Felicity was dead last.

"We have to go to Felicity's classroom," Patricia told me over breakfast, not making eye contact. "She is... sensitive about her grades. She needs support so the other kids don't make fun of her for being adopted."

"Both of you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, both of us," Christopher snapped, adjusting his tie. "She needs a united front. You are doing fine, Campbell. You don't need us to hold your hand to hear a teacher say 'good job.'"

They left together. Holding hands.

I sat alone in my classroom while other kids introduced their parents to the teacher. When my name was called, I walked up to the desk by myself.

The teacher looked behind me, expecting an adult.

"Just me," I said, handing over my perfect report card. "My parents are... busy."

Chapter 7