The Daughter They Starved to Death Came Back a Billionaire

Dad received his transfer orders and was sent to the frontier for re-education.

Mom made two bowls of noodles.

Whoever gets the fried egg comes with us.

My older sister, who'd always been the lucky one, didn't get the egg. I did, the one who'd never won anything in her life.

The next morning at dawn, Mom took me by the hand, and together with Dad, we boarded the train heading out for labor reform.

"Your father and I have always been fair. You won, so you should be the one by our side."

"Your sister was unlucky. We've already cut ties with her. Let her read her useless books and fend for herself."

Thirteen years later, the policies changed, and we returned to the city.

Mom made two bowls of noodles again.

This time, my sister was the one who got the egg.

Mom acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"We've always been fair. Your sister won, so the marriage arrangement with the Gilberts goes to her."

"You've got no education and no looks. Go work at the factory for a couple of years, save up your own dowry, and then we'll find you a decent family."

My sister sat with her head bowed over her noodles, eating with quiet, ladylike composure, dressed in a fashionable polyester blouse.

I looked down at my own hands, rough and cracked, at my sleeves bleached white and patched over and over, and suddenly I laughed.

Not like my previous life, when I'd screamed and fought, been locked away for six days, and died alone.

I nodded slowly, and set my course for Seaview City without looking back.

The eighties were a goldmine for entrepreneurs. What did I need a man for? What I wanted was wealth beyond counting.

My parents weren't surprised by my agreement.

Desiree Sullivan, though, froze for a couple of seconds. Her ears turned red.

After the meal, I went to wash the dishes. In the main room, Desiree finally couldn't hold back.

"Mom, Letitia Sullivan treasures Egbert Gilbert more than her own eyes. How could she just hand this marriage over to me so easily?"

Mom let out a soft laugh. "Marriage is a matter of free choice these days. How can you say she handed it to you?"

She leaned to one side and glanced toward the yard. Seeing me obediently washing dishes, paying no attention to them, she shook her head with a sigh.

"Look at the state of her. Yesterday at the photo studio, someone asked if she and I were sisters."

"I'm forty-five. She's not even twenty-seven. It was mortifying."

"When Egbert comes to our house tomorrow, there's no way he'd look twice at her."

"I'm doing her a favor, really. Saving her the embarrassment."

Desiree laughed softly, her contempt and disdain completely unconcealed.

I stood where I was, my hands stinging from the ice-cold water.

The alkaline soil of the frontier ate through skin. New flesh would barely grow in before it was corroded away again, always raw and red underneath. Even brushing against a cotton ball felt like a knife.

Mom had lived beside me for thirteen years. She knew exactly what my hands were like. But the dishes from our homecoming dinner still fell to me. She couldn't bear to let Desiree lift a finger.

The moment we'd arrived at the frontier, Mom and Dad had collapsed into bed, unable to handle the climate.

I was dizzy and nauseous too, vomiting and running to the outhouse every hour.

The village chief gave us a few days to adjust. I adapted. My parents never did.

So I took their place, one person doing the work of two.

The frontier soil was packed hard as stone, laced with tangled root systems. A full swing of the hoe sent shockwaves up through the handle until the webbing between my thumb and forefinger went numb, and still it barely left a scratch.

My first day of labor, I came home with more than a dozen blood blisters.

The first thing Mom did when she saw them was grab a needle and pop every one. "They heal faster this way. I'll do the dishes tonight, but no slacking off tomorrow."

The next day, the raw, broken skin soaked in salt water. It felt like ten thousand ants gnawing through my flesh. I gritted my teeth but couldn't hold out. I collapsed face-first and blacked out from the pain.

When I came to, Mom spooned a dose of medicine into my mouth, then backhanded me across the face.

"That medicine you just drank? Your sister risked being reported just to mail it to us."

"We abandoned her. Cut her off. She's been living under someone else's roof. And still she thinks about doing her part for this family."

"And what about you? You've barely been here a few days and you're already covered in blisters and fainting left and right. You can't handle even a little hardship!"

It wasn't until I died in my previous life that I realized this was my mother's way of goading me.

Desiree had never sent any medicine. Not once. Even when I wrote letter after letter begging for it, she ignored every single one.

Because before my mother left, she had given Desiree careful instructions: any letters from the frontier could be ignored entirely. All Desiree needed to do was focus on her studies. Her little sister would take care of everything.

They had a silent understanding. I was their blood bank.

A stepping stone on Desiree Sullivan's path to greatness.

My father stood to the side and didn't say a word in my defense.

Only when my mother was heading out the door did he press half a piece of cornbread into my hand.

"Your mother's a teacher. She's always been strict. Don't hold it against her."

After I finished that half piece of cornbread, there was nothing left to eat in the house.

So I picked up the hoe, blood running down my palms, teeth clenched, and dug. One swing after another, carving out enough food to keep the three of us alive.

Six months later, just when I thought my parents had finally adjusted to life out here and could share some of the burden, my father fell from the roof beam.

The doctor said he'd fractured a bone and needed bed rest. Someone had to stay by his side at all times.

Nobody consulted me about who that someone would be. The job went to my mother.

I had no grounds to argue. All I could do was grit my teeth and keep going.

During the day, I turned soil, dug irrigation ditches, and piled compost. At night, I cooked, washed dishes, and cleaned the house.

Thirteen years of breaking new ground.

Thirteen years of hacking at hardened earth. Thirteen years of digging ditches. Thirteen years of doing the work of two grown adults.

So when the photographer pointed at my mother and asked if she was my younger sister, my brain short-circuited for a few seconds. Fury blazed through me, but then I turned and caught my own reflection in the mirror.

Skin dark and dull, rough as sandpaper.

A gaunt frame, hollow cheeks, not an ounce of flesh to spare.

Clothes washed so many times they'd gone white, pants patched over and over in layers.

Standing next to Desiree, I looked like I belonged to a different century.

She wore her hair in twin braids, dressed in the trendiest plaid shirt, cradling a roll of blueprints from the design institute. An educated, cultured professional.

I had my hair cropped short to my ears for easy washing and easier work. I wore a rough cotton tunic bleached pale and patched beyond counting. In my hand dangled a bag of greens and pork for tonight's dinner. A weathered farmhand, nothing more.

Desiree let out a soft laugh.

"Oh, you're too funny. That's my mother over there, and this is my little sister."

The photographer's look of disbelief hit me like a slap across the face.

Hard enough to split skin.

By the time I swallowed my humiliation and walked out of the photo studio, my mother and Desiree were already gone.

I went home and made dinner. The two of them finally came back, arms loaded with shopping bags.

Desiree was wearing something new: a sky-blue polyester blouse trimmed with lace. Under the warm glow of the lamp, it shimmered, and the sight of it stung my eyes.

My mother said, "Your sister has fair skin. Blue looks good on her. You're too thin and small. There was nothing in the store that fit you."

My father said, "Desiree spent all those years living under someone else's roof. It wasn't easy for her. You're her little sister. You should let her have things."

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. Tears nearly spilled over.

Thirteen years of backbreaking labor, and I couldn't even earn myself a single blouse?

The very next day, my fianc Egbert came to see me. The moment he laid eyes on me, shock flooded his face, and every trace of the warmth he'd once shown me vanished.

When he emerged from my father's study, his expression was a mix of guilt and distance.

"Letitia, let's call off the engagement. I know I'm the one in the wrong."

"Desiree is a college graduate. We have things in common, we see the world the same way. I'd only be happy with her."

"Don't blame her. You can't force these things."

I laughed when he finished. Laughed until the tears came.

What was so hard about her life?

She breezed through eight years of school without a care in the world, landed a job at a design firm right after graduation, and had a bright future stretching out ahead of her.

I'd slaved away for thirteen years. My body was wrecked, my looks destroyed, and because I never finished middle school, I couldn't even qualify for the easier positions.

If anything, I wished I'd been the one sent to live with relatives.

I was shaking with rage. Desiree wrapped her arms around me, her voice gentle and soothing.

"Letitia, if you need to blame someone, blame me. Please don't blame Egbert."

"We're truly in love. I'm begging you, give us your blessing."

Everyone looked at her with approval, admiring her kindness. Even knowing she was superior to me in every way, in looks and education, she was still willing to be considerate of my feelings. A failure's feelings.

But what no one noticed was that the words Desiree whispered in my ear told a very different story.

"Letitia, let me tell you something."

"Thirteen years ago, we both got a fried egg. You got yours at the dinner table. I got mine in the kitchen. Mom said if it weren't for the fact that you absolutely had to have one, both of them would've been mine."

"And last night, my noodles had two eggs. Yours had none."

So that bowl of egg noodles had nothing to do with reward or punishment. It was nothing but our parents playing favorites, through and through.

My eyes nearly split with fury. But she held me tight, her arms like a vise.

"Egbert wrote you letters. I intercepted every single one. I went after him on purpose, made him fall for me little by little."

"If I'd known you'd come back from the frontier looking like this, I wouldn't have even bothered pretending. Because right now, you're not even worth comparing to me."

The moment the words left her mouth, she staggered back two steps and tumbled down the stairs.

Mom slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. "If anything happens to Desiree, I will never forgive you!"

Dad looked stricken with grief. "You'd lay hands on your own sister over a man? Are you even human?"

Egbert's face was full of disappointment. "Your sister told me your personality had changed, and I didn't believe her. Now I see she was being generous. You're vicious."

I pressed my hand to my burning cheek. The hatred inside me burrowed from my heart into my bones like worms, gnawing, flaying me alive.

If it weren't for me, our parents never would have made it back from the frontier in one piece.

If it weren't for me, Egbert would have died at three years old.

That day, I flipped the table. I screamed like a madwoman, pouring out every injustice festering inside me.

"Mom! You remember that Desiree loves peanuts, but you don't even know I'm allergic to them! I was hospitalized ten times for allergic reactions. Three of those times I nearly died!"

"Dad! All you ever did was hold Desiree and paint with her. All I ever got was cold words. 'You're too stupid. Instead of wasting time learning to paint, you should help out around the house so you can find a good man to marry someday.' We're both your daughters! Why did you treat us so differently?"

"Egbert, we grew up together! You promised you'd never marry anyone but me. I will die before I agree to let you marry Desiree!"

The room went terrifyingly silent.

Everyone stared at me. There was no shock at our parents' favoritism. No judgment of Desiree for benefiting from it all.

Only disgust at me for being ungrateful.

Dad looked at me quietly, the way you'd look at a child throwing a senseless tantrum.

"Letitia, you've gone too far. Making this kind of scene over a wedding? Where's your dignity? Your mother and I have always treated you and your sister equally. We've never played favorites. You had bad luck and didn't get the egg. Why are you taking it out on your sister?"

"I'm telling you right now: Egbert doesn't want you. You will accept that."

In the end, I was locked away as punishment.

Six days in a pitch-black room with no light.

No one brought water. No one brought food. I starved to death.

In the last moment before my eyes closed for good, all I could hear were firecrackers shaking the sky. Everyone was celebrating Desiree and Egbert's wedding.

...

Inside, Mom and Desiree were still whispering to each other, glancing my way every so often.

I put away the dishes and went to my room.

I spent the entire night doing the math.

Early the next morning, Egbert arrived with Boris Gilbert and Mila Gilbert in tow.

Dad wore a brand-new formal suit, looking every bit the polished intellectual. Mom and Desiree were dressed in matching polyester outfits, like a pair of sisters.

And me? All I had was the ill-fitting dress Desiree had tossed my way the night before, looking down her nose as she did it.

Surrounded by a room full of well-groomed, educated people, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Boris and Mila stared at me with eyes that nearly bulged out of their heads. Egbert looked three parts disbelief and seven parts disgust.

Then my mother spoke up with a bright smile. "In-laws, I've adored Egbert ever since he was a boy. I can't tell you how happy I am that our Desiree gets to marry him!"

Mila's eyes lit up. "It's Desiree who's marrying him?"

My mother clasped Mila's hands and let out a sigh, putting on a pained expression.

"I know we originally agreed on Letitia. But the poor girl's had a hard life. Thirteen years with us out on the frontier, and look what it's done to her..."

"Thankfully, she's sensible. She knows the gap between herself and Egbert, so she offered to step aside and let Desiree and Egbert be together. She even said she'd go find work and save up her own dowry!"

Boris and Mila looked briefly surprised, then turned to me with a gaze that was equal parts approval and pity. They praised me for being sensible, for seeing the bigger picture, for being a good little sister.

I didn't say a word. I just helped pour tea and serve water while they happily discussed the wedding plans.

Because I knew that making a scene would be pointless. My death in my previous life had taught me that much.

Egbert let out a long breath of relief and stepped toward me.

"Letitia, I owe you. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to come to me."

I pulled away from his reach and let out a cold laugh. "No need."

In this life, we would have nothing to do with each other.

Desiree clung to Egbert's arm, triumphant.

"Little sister, I know you resent me for stealing Egbert away. But love doesn't follow a first-come, first-served rule."

"Stop sulking. Egbert's transfer orders have already come through. You work hard for a couple of years, save up your dowry, and we'll absolutely find you a man with a proper government job."

"The transfer orders came through? That's wonderful! Our Desiree's going to be a bureaucrat's wife!" Mom and Dad slapped their thighs in delight, then turned to me. "Letitia, didn't you save up thirty dollars? Hurry up and take your sister and brother-in-law to a nice restaurant to celebrate!"

They shoved at me, their eyes darting greedily to the pocket at my waist.

I stood rooted to the spot and shook my head. "I won't."

"What did you just say?"

I stared straight into my mother's face and spoke slowly, one word at a time. "You traded away my engagement. Why should I pay for the celebration?"

"If you want me to treat, fine. First, pay back the eight hundred and fifty-two dollars and thirty-five cents you owe me."

The room went dead silent.

My mother's face flushed red. She understood perfectly. I had refused their demand and challenged their authority as parents.

Her expression twisted into something ugly right before everyone's eyes. Her hand moved faster than her brain, and the slap cracked across my face before the words even left her mouth.

"Letitia Sullivan! What kind of nonsense are you spouting?!"

"It's not nonsense." I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and looked at her calmly. "I have the IOUs. Signed by you, with your thumbprint."

Because Dad once praised Desiree for having a talent for painting, I had thrown myself into practicing calligraphy until my handwriting was flawless.

Over those thirteen years, I finished my labor during the day, then burned through lamp oil at night, copying books for people and collecting scraps for money. In total, I had earned nine hundred dollars.

The neighbors all praised me for being clever and capable, a girl who could work hard and earn her keep.

And gradually, some of them began to speak up for me.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, you two sure have it made. You work your daughter like a mule while you sit inside painting pictures and reading books. Must be nice. The rest of us aren't nearly so lucky."

That evening, the moment I got off work, my mother dragged me into the house and slapped me hard across the face.

"You just love playing the saint, don't you? Help your parents with a few chores and suddenly the whole village's singing your praises and pointing fingers at us behind our backs!"

"Fine! From now on, every cent we spend, we'll write you an IOU. When we earn the money, we'll pay back every last penny!"

I went into my room, a converted storage shed, and brought out a cookie tin.

I opened it. Inside was a stack of IOUs nearly two inches thick.

Dates, signatures, red thumbprints.

Every single one accounted for.

My parents froze in place, staring at that stack, their lips pressed into thin lines.

Everyone else fell dead silent, exchanging uneasy glances.

I picked up the one on top and read it aloud, slowly. "I, Jack Sullivan, hereby owe Letitia Sullivan 0-01.80 for the purchase of paintbrushes. This note serves as proof."

"Starting from March 1970. Eleven years' worth."

"Jack Sullivan and Olivia Lawrence borrowed a total of $825.35 from me."

"Of that, 0-069.43 went to medicine when they were sick. $483.55 went to painting supplies and books. And 0-072.37 covered everyday expenses."

"Oh, and one more thing. When we moved back to the city, you borrowed another fifty dollars from me. Bought Dad a formal suit. You and Desiree each got yourselves a new blouse. You said you'd write me an IOU when we got home."

With every item I read, another shade of color drained from my parents' faces.

Boris and Mila Gilbert, along with Egbert, had started out looking shocked and confused. But as they followed my words and their eyes landed on the formal suit and the blouses the three of them were wearing, that confusion curdled into disbelief and visible discomfort.

My mother opened her mouth, trying to cut me off, but she was so furious no sound came out.

My father swung his hand and slapped me across the face. Every trace of his mild-mannered, scholarly composure was gone. He jabbed a finger at my nose, his voice shrill and cracking.

"Letitia Sullivan! Your parents gave you life and raised you, and you're sitting here nickel-and-diming us over every last cent? You ungrateful little wretch!"

They hadn't held back.

Both my cheeks were split and bleeding.

Thirteen years ago, the first time they'd hit me, I hadn't been able to take it. I'd passed out for a full day and night.

Things were different now. I'd grown up.

Not only could I take both slaps, I had the nerve to shatter the chains and set myself free.

I pressed my tongue against the torn flesh inside my cheek, then let out a quiet laugh.

"Mom, Dad. That first time we drew lots with the fried eggs... was I really the only one who got one?"

"And last night, didn't Desiree eat two?"