Mia is tired of being second best, living in the shadow of her stepsister, Isabella.

After her 16th birthday, when her mother reveals that Isabella does indeed receive more attention, Mia runs away to her aunt, who tells her the truth.Growing up, I always felt like the odd one out in my own home, unlike my vibrant, colorful stepsister, Isabella, My mother, Selena, has always been a complete mystery to me. When I was younger, I remember her doting on me. But as I grew, things quickly changed. Instead, she showered Isabella with affection and praise, leaving me to bask in the leftover attention. And it wasn’t just in my head. The evidence was present in every aspect of our lives: family outings, birthdays, even casual dinners, My mother went out of her way to ensure Isabella’s preferences were front and center. It had been like that for most of my life. My wishes? They seemed more like afterthoughts, barely acknowledged and quickly forgotten. “Are you sure it’s not a jealousy thing?” my friend Rachel asked me. “Sibling rivalry is common, after all.” “I’m sure it isn’t. Isabella and I actually have a somewhat good relationship. It’s just my mom,” I replied. As we got older, the disparity in treatment only grew more pronounced. Isabella’s achievements were celebrated with enthusiasm—often resulting in fresh flowers and a cake, just for Isabella. And my achievements? They were acknowledged, yes, but with a subdued, almost mechanical response. “Well done, Mia,” my mother would say, barely looking at me. Tom, my stepfather, would smile solemnly at me. I felt like an outsider in my own family—my successes mere footnotes compared to Isabella’s chapters of glory. Evenwhen Isabella joined cheerleading at school, my mother went into my closet and took out my old uniform and pompoms, ready to lavish her favorite child with more. But this wasn’t the only thing. My mother’s leniency with Isabella was another thorn in my side. Common curfews and rules were malleable around her, her mistakes met with swift and forgiving resolutions. Meanwhile, I faced the full brunt of discipline. Then, my 16th birthday came around. What should have been a celebration for me, a day where I could feel special, was overshadowed yet again by Isabella. The surprise performance for my birthday was Isabella’s favorite local band. Once again, she was the center of attention, and I was an outsider at my own party. But nothing compared to the sting of seeing Isabella adorned with the necklace I had longed for. “It will suit Bella more,” my mother said. “Don’t worry about it, Mia. I’ll get you something else at some point.” And then she smiled slowly. “Don’t fuss, Mia,” she added. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I didn’t even cut the cake—I knew my mom would ask Isabella to do it. That night, overwhelmed by the hurt and feeling of invisibility, it all became too much. So, I packed a small bag and made my way to my mom’s sister—Aunt Clara. S? Why do you want to leave home?” n the kitchen, where she made me some hot chocolate, I explained, “It’s just… Mom always puts Isabella first. Even on my birthday, she made it all about Bella. I feel like I am invisible.” Aunt Clara sighed deeply. “There’s something about your mom and Isabella that you might not know,” she began, her voice trembling. The story Aunt Clara unraveled shocked me, altering everything I thought I knew about my family. My mother, a nurse, had been unable to save Isabella’s biological mother during childbirth. This tragedy, seen as a failure in my mother’s eyes, haunted her, leading her to overcompensate in her affection and attention toward Isabella. She was trying to make amends for a life she couldn’t save. As Aunt Clara picked up her phone, I knew she was going to text my mother and tell her where I was. While she revealed more, we made toasted cheese sandwiches together. Mom whispered. “I thought you didn’t care,” I said. “Darling,” Mom replied, taking my hand. “I do care, more than you know.” “I’ve told Mia everything,” Aunt Clara interjected, making a cup of tea for my mom. “I’ve made mistakes, letting my guilt about Isabella cloud my judgment. But I want to make things right. I see my wrongs,” she continued. I squeezed my mother’s hand, and she returned the gesture.I had longed for this affection from her. I wanted to feel loved by my mother. “It’s a new beginning, Mia,” she said. “Just you wait and see.” I believe my mom’s right—now that I know everything, we’ll be closer.