I made myself a cup of strong coffee and sat at my small kitchen table, letting the memories wash over me like a tide I had been holding back for decades of my life.
Growing up, I had always known I was the less favored child in our family dynamic. Britney was two years younger than me, blonde and beautiful, where I was plain and practical in appearance. She had my mother’s natural charm and my father’s striking blue eyes, while I had inherited my grandmother’s sturdy build and unremarkable brown hair.
From the time Britney learned to walk as a toddler, she had been the center of attention in our household constantly. I remembered the year I made the honor roll for the first time in elementary school clearly. I had rushed home with my report card clutched in my hands, expecting praise and celebration from my parents for my achievement. Instead, I found my parents cooing over Britney’s participation trophy from a dance recital she had been in.
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