The Rivers estate always smelled like lilies on family nights. My mother insisted on fresh arrangements for every dinner. White tablecloth. Silver polished. Candles lit even if it was only the four of us.
For years, I believed that meant I was loved. "Elena, you look exhausted," my father said warmly that evening, smiling from the head of the table. "Working too hard again?"
"I'm fine," I said, smiling back. Across from me, Emma folded her napkin carefully in her lap. She had been adopted into our family three years after I was born. My parents always said they wanted both of us to grow up with a sister. Emma had learned quickly how to be perfect.
Sweet voice.
Soft laughter.
Fragile smiles.
"Elena's always been strong," Emma said gently. "Sometimes… maybe too strong." I glanced at her. There was something in her tone that didn't match her expression.
Too smooth.
Too prepared.
Dinner continued. Polite. Calm.
Then Emma's fork slipped from her hand. The clatter rang sharply across the room.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. My mother immediately leaned forward. "Emma? What's wrong?"
Emma looked at me. Tears welled instantly, almost impressively fast.
"She's been bullying me," she said, voice shaking. "For months." The world went quiet.
My father stiffened. "Elena?" I stared at her. "What?"
"She tells me I'll never be a real daughter," Emma said through sobs. "That I don't belong here."
That was the first lie. It would not be the last.
My parents looked devastated. Conflicted. But they believed her. Because Emma cried beautifully. Because I did not.
My father stood slowly. "Elena, we need space. This tension is unhealthy." My chest tightened.
"You're asking me to leave," I said.
"For now," my mother whispered.
That was the night I stopped belonging.