Told I'd Live Long, Mom Loved My Doomed Sister

Just because, the year I turned eight, a fortune-teller said I would live to a hundred.

And my sister, he said, had the classic look of a beauty doomed to die young.

So my mother took back every scrap of love she had for me and gave it all to my sister.

My sister pushed me off my bike into a ditch once, and I got sixteen stitches.

"What are you whining for? You're not going to die."

My mother cursed me raw, then turned to my sister's scraped knee with eyes red from worry.

The year I turned eighteen, my mother took my sister on a trip to the beach.

I was working a part-time job when a car hit me, and they rushed me into the ER that night.

The hospital called about the bill.

My mother's voice didn't so much as flinch.

"The fortune-teller said she'd live to a hundred. A little scrape like this won't kill her. There's no need to waste resources trying to save her."

She hung up and went back to taking photos with my sister.

My sister said she liked a bag, so a bag that cost a hundred grand was bought on the spot.

Even my fianc, just because my sister looked at him a few extra times.

My marriage was taken from me and handed to her.

Later, when I had given up and cut my wrist, my sister smirked and told me.

"When we were little, Mom always hit me and loved you more. I couldn't stand it, so I stole a hundred dollars from her and gave it to that old fortune-teller."

"Never thought the old man saying I'd die young would actually wake up Mom's motherly love."

"I had all of Mom's love to myself for years. So tell me, sis, wasn't that hundred dollars money well spent?"

Blood ran down my wrist and turned the whole tub red.

My whole body went rigid.

"What... did you say?"

"Rebecca Harding, you tell me exactly what you mean."

"You took a hundred dollars and gave it to the old fortune-teller? What is that supposed to mean?"

I struggled to get up, but my sister suddenly shrieked and burst into tears.

"Mom, she's going to hit me!"

My mother rushed out of the bedroom and threw herself in front of Rebecca.

My sister squeezed out a few tears and got her accusation in first.

"She told me to give up chasing Leo and hand him back to her."

"She said if I didn't, she'd frame me for trying to murder her!"

My mother flared up at once.

"Lola Harding!"

"Yesterday you wouldn't give up your engagement, and today you're bullying Rebecca. Are you trying to drive me into an early grave?"

I dragged a pale smile onto my face.

"Mom, can't you see I cut my wrist?"

My mother only glanced at my wrist and frowned.

"Lola, can't you stop pulling this stunt over and over?"

"You're not going to die. The fortune-teller already said it, your fate is to live to a hundred."

"A top-tier lucky life. And here you are smearing some tomato juice around, playing the poor girl who slit her wrists."

"If it's not a car crash, it's your wrist."

"Lola, next time could you at least try a different trick?"

She said she had no time to coddle my delicate pride, she still had to take my sister to the mall to buy new clothes.

The door slammed shut.

The last thing I saw was the triumph in my sister's eyes.

As if to say.

See? I won again this time, didn't I?

The blood loss left my brain starved for air.

And through it all, only Rebecca's smirking voice kept echoing in my ears.

"When we were little, Mom always hit me and loved you more. I couldn't stand it, so I stole a hundred dollars from her and gave it to that old fortune-teller."

"Never thought the old man saying I'd die young would actually wake up Mom's motherly love."

So all these years... the long life, the early death, all of it had been nothing but one of Rebecca's cruel little games.

Panic hit me all at once. On instinct I reached for my phone to call for help.

But I'd lost too much blood.

Before I could even get to my feet I crashed to the floor and lost consciousness.

When I opened my eyes again, I was already lying in a hospital.

"Lo, are you okay?"

Above me were Leo's bloodshot eyes.

Two hours earlier, when Leo couldn't get through to me on the phone, he'd come to the house to check on me.

And found me passed out in a tub full of bloodied water.

He'd rushed me to the hospital right then.

"You're the one I love. I'm not going to marry your sister."

"Lo, is it that you don't believe me? How could you be foolish enough to cut your wrist?"

He held me, aching for me, his voice breaking.

I looked at him quietly, silent for a long time before I slipped my hand free.

"Leo, let's break up."

Why?

Leopolds voice was hoarse. You dont love me anymore?

Lola, didnt you say that no matter how big the obstacles, youd never let go?

I lowered my head, drowning in the bitterness of it.

For as long as I can remember, Ive never been able to go against my mom.

Like my bedroom, the master room with all the good light.

The moment Rebecca decided she liked it, it became hers.

Or the birthday present I got once, the Elsa princess dress.

Rebecca said if I wouldnt give it to her, shed take scissors to it.

In the end, she got what she wanted and wore it herself.

Now it was my boyfriend, the same story all over again.

I didnt have the strength left to fight.

Lo, Im not like those things.

When Leopold saw that Id closed my eyes, he didnt say anything more.

Just rest for now. Ill come see you.

And I already called your mom just now. She knows youre in the hospital.

Not long after, my mother called.

The line was noisy, the faint clamor of a shopping mall behind her.

But sharper than that was the impatience in her voice.

What are you pulling now?

I already told you, youre not going to die, and here you are burning money on the hospital again and again. Can you not give me one bit of trouble?

I listened in silence while she went on scolding me on the other end.

I only asked one thing, quietly.

Mom, arent you afraid that one day I really will die?

She let out a cold laugh.

You, die? The fortune-teller said it himself, youll live to a hundred. You dont die that easily.

Your sisters the one with a short life. We owe her too much.

Nothing we do could ever make it up to her, so can you please stop competing with your sister for everything?

Always making a scene about wanting to die. If theres a next time, you can get out for good!

The call cut off abruptly, leaving only the busy dial tone.

The doctor came over and said that with the blood loss, the family needed to bring in more blood, more nutrition.

He also told me not to do anything so foolish again.

I just listened without a word.

The truth was, I didnt really want to die.

I only wanted to test whether I really would live to a hundred, the way my mom kept saying.

But the hospital told me Id lost too much blood, that if I hadnt been brought in when I was, I would have died.

So it turned out I could die too.

A few minutes later, my mother sent a text.

One more thing. The medical bills for landing yourself in the hospital this time, you sort those out yourself. Dont come asking me.

Then she sent a voice message right after.

Your sisters got her eye on a skincare set, over ten thousand for the set, and new clothes for her date, another few tens of thousands. Theres no spare money for you.

I could hear Rebecca cooing beside her.

Mom, hurry and hang up, I have to go try on wedding dresses.

Coming, coming.

My mother hung up in a rush.

I touched the gauze on my wrist and, with a trembling hand, tapped into my mothers social feed.

Sure enough, in that endless scroll of posts,

every single one was about Rebecca.

My daughter Rebecca is so sweet and thoughtful, I want to record every single moment I get to spend with her.

Not one was about me.

In the past, every time I asked, hurt, Mom, Im your daughter too. Why do you never post me?

her face would go cold.

Youre going to live to a hundred, youve got such a long life ahead of you. Whats there to compare with your sister?

My poor Rebecca, she wont live as long as you. All I can do is give her every good thing in the time she has, so she wont die with regrets.

All of this, only because of one thing.

The year I was eight, my mother brought a blind fortune-teller into our home.

He felt my hand, then felt Rebeccas.

Then he wagged his head and rattled off a whole speech.

I only remember two lines.

Your elder daughter has an iron-hard fate. Shell live to a hundred.

The younger one has a face marked by romance and misfortune, a beauty doomed to die young. She likely wont make it past twenty.

My mother broke down crying on the spot.

She held Rebecca and sobbed as if her heart were being torn out.

After that, everything changed.

Before, my mother had loved me more. I was the older one, sweet and obedient, good grades, a favorite with the teachers.

Rebecca was the mischievous one, and my mother had smacked her plenty.

But the moment the fortune-teller spoke, the scales tipped for good.

At ten, I was riding my bike with Rebecca on the back.

She suddenly lunged forward and clapped both hands over my eyes.

The bike and I went straight into the ditch by the road.

My forehead hit a stone. Sixteen stitches.

My mother rushed to the hospital, took one look at my blood-covered face.

What are you being so dramatic for? Youre not going to die.

Then she turned and saw a small scrape on Rebeccas knee, and her eyes went red with worry.

Oh, baby, does it hurt? Let Mommy blow on it.

Rebecca buried herself in her arms, crying.

I sat on the hospital bed, holding the gauze against my forehead myself.

The nurse couldnt stand it. The childs getting stitches, we have to give anesthetic. One of the parents needs to come over and stay with her.

My mother still held Rebecca in her arms.

She just tossed out coldly, My elder daughter has a hard fate. She can take it.

At twelve, the school held a parents' meeting.

I'd placed first in my grade. Rebecca had placed third from the bottom.

Mom spent the whole afternoon sitting in Rebecca's classroom.

I waited until dark, and my seat stayed empty.

The teacher asked me, "Where are your parents?"

I said, "Mom had something come up."

She sighed and stroked my head.

At thirteen, my fever spiked to a hundred and four.

I dragged myself up to get some water and passed out on the living room floor.

That night, when Mom and Rebecca got back from their trip, they found me lying there, and Rebecca screamed in fright.

"Mom, Sis didn't die at home because we didn't take her on the trip, did she?"

Mom pulled her into her arms right away, aching for her.

"Don't be scared, don't be scared. Your sister's fine."

Then she kicked me. "Quit playing dead. Get up and cook. Your sister's hungry."

I climbed to my feet.

The room spun around me.

But I still went to the kitchen and boiled two bowls of noodles.

Rebecca said they were too salty and smashed her bowl on the floor.

Mom yelled at me. "What's wrong with you? Salty enough to kill somebody. Make it again."

I crouched down to pick up the broken pieces.

A shard cut my finger open.

Mom didn't even look.

At fifteen, I got into the best high school in the city.

Rebecca didn't even make the cutoff score.

Mom paid thirty thousand in placement fees to get her in.

Thirty thousand. Half a year of Mom's salary.

My middle school tuition had been free, waived entirely because my grades were so good.

Mom was thrilled. She'd saved a chunk of money.

Then she bought Rebecca a new backpack, new school supplies, new clothes.

I carried the same old backpack I'd used for six years of elementary school to my new school.

My classmates laughed at how shabby I looked.

I said, "It's fine. A backpack just has to hold books."

At sixteen, I wanted to go to a math olympiad summer camp.

It cost two thousand.

Mom frowned. "That expensive, and for what? Your sister still wants to sign up for dance class. The money has to go to her first."

Later, Rebecca got her dance class.

Thirty-eight hundred.

She went three days, complained it was tiring, and never went back.

The money wasn't refunded either.

At seventeen, I won first prize in the state math olympiad.

I brought the trophy home so carefully, loving it so much I couldn't decide where to keep it safe.

Rebecca, jealous that she had nothing like it, shoved it off onto the floor and shattered it.

I cried so hard I almost fainted.

Mom stood there and said, "Broken's broken. It's just a stupid cup. Is it worth all this?"

My eyes were red from crying. "Make her pay me back for my trophy!"

Instead Mom got worked up and scolded me for making a scene.

"The fortune-teller already said it. Your sister's short-lived. She won't make it past twenty."

"You're the older sister. You not only won't give in to her, you're fighting with her over this!"

In the middle of the night, I heard praying coming from Mom's bedroom.

"I beg the gods, take fifty years off my elder daughter's life and give it to my younger daughter."

That was when I finally understood.

In front of Rebecca, everything of mine had to yield to her.

All because the fortune-teller said my life would be long and hers would be short.

So even my life itself was supposed to make up for hers.

After that I turned quiet, obedient, well-behaved.

Anything Rebecca had her eye on, I would never fight for.

Even during winter and summer breaks in college.

I stayed away and worked instead.

For a while, back then, there was a brief peace.

Until eighteen, when I started dating.

My boyfriend was Leopold Dudley. Good family, good-looking, good to me.

The first time Rebecca met him, she blushed.

"Sis, your boyfriend is so handsome."

I didn't think much of it. Leo loved me, and he was faithful, so it didn't seem like anything to worry about.

Later Leo came over for dinner.

Rebecca kept drifting around in a spaghetti-strap nightgown.

Mom pulled Leo out onto the balcony. "Leo, honey, our younger girl is the sweeter one. You should give her a good look too."

Leo laughed, uncomfortable.

Rebecca walked right up and hooked her arm through his. "Leo, help me with this problem, would you?"

Leo awkward and ill at ease, Rebecca setting out to seduce him.

Mom stood beside them grinning ear to ear.

And me, I went cold all the way through.

After a huge fight, I came home less and less.

Until the day of my twenty-second birthday.

To help Rebecca get what she wanted, Mom actually got Leo drunk on purpose.

She had Rebecca change into my clothes.

And then she pushed her into Leo's hotel room.

That night, I caught them in the act.

Their plan fell apart.

And just as the last of my warmth for them died out,

my mother, cornered and furious, finally said what she really thought.

Your sister won't live long. Whatever she wants, we're her family, we should give it to her.

She's finally found a boy she likes. You're her older sister. Just hand him over.

I was too stunned to speak.

In the end all I could manage was a bitter little smile.

Mom, do you even hear yourself?

My trophy, I can give up. My clothes, I can give up. Everything, I can give up.

But Leo is my boyfriend.

Why don't you hand your husband over to some other woman?

Her hand cracked across my face.

Her expression went cold.

I'm saying this once and I mean it.

You'll give him up whether you want to or not.

From today, you cut off all contact with Leopold Dudley. He's going to be your sister's husband.

So my mother became Rebecca's best accomplice.

Even after I refused to come home to avoid them, out working every single day,

their messages kept coming like something demonic,

one after another lighting up my phone.

Why haven't you brought Leo home to visit yet?

Your sister cried again last night over this, cried until her eyes swelled up. How can you be so heartless when you're the older one?

I'm giving you three more days. Break up with Leopold Dudley, now!

That was my own mother and my own sister.

Forcing me to give up everything I had.

Cutting my chest open with their own hands,

taking my blood and my flesh for free.

And right then, I was truly tired.

After I was discharged, the house was empty. Just me.

I only found out from the note on the fridge.

Mom had taken my sulking sister on a trip to the coast.

I sat alone on the living room couch.

I looked at the photos on the wall, all of my sister. Graduation photos, studio portraits, selfies.

Packed wall to wall, and not one of me.

I opened my sister's social media feed.

The latest post was from three minutes ago.

A grid of nine photos.

Mom crouched on the sand tying her shoe.

Mom holding a parasol over her.

Mom lifting her phone to take her picture.

Mom holding out a coconut water with a straw in it, right up to her lips.

The caption read: The best mom in the whole world, only ever loves me~

Underneath, a mutual friend had commented::

I thought you weren't an only child? How can she only love you?

Where's your sister? She didn't come along?

My sister, Rebecca, replied::

My sister's working. She says she loves her job. We wanted to bring her but she wouldn't come.

Right. To everyone else, my sister had built me an image of the sister who loves to work.

She and Mom traveled the world without me.

When she couldn't get into a real college and barely scraped into some third-rate school, Mom threw her a lavish graduation party.

And I was in the room next door, waiting tables, carrying plates.

I lowered my head and gave a small laugh, then tore the bandage off my wrist.

Sure enough, the wound was still weeping blood.

I drew the blade across it again.

And the doctor's frantic voice came back to me.

She has a clotting disorder. You didn't know?

That time, I got sixteen stitches. My mother never even glanced at it.

Now, watching the blood well up like a spring,

all I felt was the satisfaction of revenge.

I took a photo and sent it to my mother at the coast.

And I wrote my last words.

Mom, weren't you always saying I should give in to my sister?

Then I'll give this life to her too, as compensation.

That should finally make you happy, right?