The day I was finally reunited with my biological family, Lena Fraser, the girl who had taken my place for nearly two decades, was practicing piano in the living room.

The moment she saw me, her fingers trembled, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Mom, Dad, are you really going to abandon me?"

My mother, Rhonda Fraser, rushed over and hugged her. "Lenny, don't cry. I would never abandon you."

My father, Nolan Fraser, joined them, gently patting her back. "Don't overthink it. You'll always be our daughter."

My brother, Bernard Fraser, shot me a glare, as if all of this was somehow my fault. "Lenny's heart hasn't been doing well lately. Don't upset her."

I stood at the doorway, clutching my shabby suitcase.

I almost laughed at the sight of them, all huddled together in that sweet, picture‑perfect family moment.

If it weren't for the promise I made, I'd never set foot in this house!

***

My biological parents and brother were comforting the person who'd stolen my place for 18 years.

And I, their real daughter and sister, stood outside like a delivery girl.

I knocked on the doorframe. "Um, can I come in, or should I wait outside until you're done hugging?"

Only then did Rhonda seem to remember my presence, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face. "Jenna, come in."

Jenna. She even got my name wrong. It was Jessica.

Perhaps she had grown so accustomed to using Lena's name over the past eighteen years that the similar name just slipped out.

"My name is Jessica."

I dragged my suitcase inside, calmly correcting her.

Lena looked up, still sniffling, her tear-streaked face delicate and pitiful. "Jessie, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I took your place..."

"It's fine," I said, dropping my suitcase in the corner. "You've had my place for eighteen years. I can certainly wait a few minutes longer."

The room fell silent.

Lena's sobs caught in her throat. She clearly hadn't expected me to be so blunt.

Bernard frowned. "Jessica, what's with your attitude?"

I looked at my so-called big brother.

Twenty-five years old and CEO of the Fraser Group, he was rumored to be ruthless and decisive. Yet, at this moment, he acted more like a protective mother hen.

"I'm just telling the truth."

I sat down on the couch. It was so soft, way more comfortable than the bed I'd had at my foster parents' house.

"She really did take my place for 18 years. That's a fact.

"Or would you rather I say, 'It's okay, Lena. Keep pretending you belong here'?"

"You—" Bernard started to lash out, but Nolan stopped him.

Nolan cleared his throat. "Jessie just got back. We all need time to adjust. Lenny, go back to your room. Don't forget to take your medicine."

Lena bit her lip, her eyes still swimming with tears, and glanced at me before hurrying upstairs.

Her retreating figure looked so fragile.

But I saw it clearly—the moment she turned away, her lips curled in a triumphant smirk.

Great acting, but too bad she'd met her match.

Dinner was lavish, with plenty of dishes.

But everything was bland, supposedly for Lena's heart condition.

I forked some baked fish—it tasted like cardboard.

"Jessie, were things all right for you over there?" Rhonda asked tentatively.

"Over there" meant my foster parents' house.

I set down my fork. "Haven't you already done your research?"

They must have investigated my living situation right after the DNA results came back; otherwise, they wouldn't have shown up so quickly.

"We just wanted to hear it from you," Nolan said.

I smiled. "My foster dad's a gambling addict, and my foster mom's hooked on poker. I started working at ten, and by fifteen, I was paying for their son's schooling.

"You probably know the details better than I do."

Rhonda's eyes welled up. "I'm sorry, Jessie. It's all my fault—"

"We're eating," Bernard interrupted, "Let's not ruin our appetites."

I glanced at him. "Are you ashamed of my past?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Ah!" Lena suddenly clutched her chest, her face pale. "My heart... I don't feel well."

The whole family rushed to her side.

Rhonda said, "Take your medicine!"

Nolan asked, "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Bernard said, "I'll call the family doctor right away!"

I kept eating, unbothered.

Lena's acting had noticeably worsened since moments ago.

People having a real heart attack wouldn't have the strength to shout, and they certainly wouldn't time it so perfectly—right when Bernard and I were arguing.

She really knew how to pick her moments.

The family doctor arrived quickly, examined Lena, and promptly attributed her condition to emotional stress, assuring everyone she'd be fine after a little rest.

Rhonda helped Lena up the stairs. Nolan and Bernard followed.

In the huge dining room, I was all alone.

The maid came to clear the table, but I waved her off. "I'm not done yet."

Truth was, I was already full.

I just wanted to sit here and finish my first dinner in my real parents' home, even though I was all alone.

My phone buzzed with a message from my foster mother: "You brat, where's the money? Why haven't you sent this month's allowance?"

I blocked her number without hesitation.

From today on, I'm done giving anyone my money.

My room was at the very end of the third floor—a converted storage closet.

The moment I opened the door, I froze.

It was barely 20 square meters. There was a single bed, a simple wardrobe, and a desk. That was it.

The paint on the walls was peeling, and the window looked out over the backyard's trash collection area, carrying a faint, unpleasant smell.

I'd passed Lena's room on the way up, her door wide open. Inside, I saw a pink princess bed, an entire wall of walk-in closets, and a little balcony overflowing with flowers.

The contrast couldn't have been clearer.

The maid, Macy, stood in the doorway. "Ms. Jessica, Mrs. Fraser said you'll have to make do here for now. In a few days, you'll be moved to another room."

I smiled. "No need to move me. This is fine. It's quiet."

Macy hesitated, wanting to say something, but finally left without another word.

I closed the door and opened my suitcase.

There weren't many clothes inside—mostly books and notebooks.

On top was my college entrance exam transcript—top ten in the state.

I earned that score with my blood, sweat, and tears.

My foster parents never gave me a cent for tutoring; I had to fight for everything myself.

I got up at four in the morning to study, didn't sleep until midnight, and spent weekends working in restaurants to cover expenses.

The efforts paid off—I got into MIT.

From what I'd heard, Lena spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on tutors and still only managed a mid-tier college.

The irony was almost poetic.

At 10 p.m., I went downstairs for some water and overheard voices coming from the study.

"...Jessie's personality is so cold. I'm worried she won't get along with Lenny," Rhonda said.

"Lenny's heart can't handle stress. Maybe Jessie should live at school?" Nolan suggested.

"I think that's a good idea," Bernard agreed immediately. "Lenny's been unstable lately. Having Jessie around is just asking for trouble."

I stood outside, listening to my birth parents and brother discuss how to get rid of me.

Their reason? I might upset the fragile heart of the fake heiress.

What a joke.

I pushed the door open. "No need to discuss it. I'll move out myself."

All three turned to look at me, each with a different expression.

Rhonda panicked. "Jessie, you've got it all wrong. That's not what we meant!"

"I didn't get it wrong," I cut her off.

"You're worried I'll make Lenny's condition worse, so you'd rather I live at school.

"That's reasonable. I agree."

Nolan frowned. "Jessie, are you angry?"

My tone was calm. "No. I just think your suggestion is a good one.

"I'm an outsider here. I shouldn't be interfering with your happy family of four."

"What outsider!" Rhonda blurted out. "You're my real daughter!"

"Oh?" I nodded. "Then why didn't you say, 'Let Lenny live at school so she doesn't upset Jessie'?"

Rhonda was speechless.

Bernard was annoyed. "Jessica, can't you be a little more understanding? Lenny's in poor health. Can't you cut her some slack?"

I looked him in the eye. "Bernard, my foster dad, was a gambler. One time, he lost so badly that he put a knife to my throat and made me borrow money from loan sharks.

"I was sick with a high fever at the time. Guess who cut me some slack?"

Bernard fell silent.

I went on, "No one did. So I learned something—

"In this world, no one is obligated to cut anyone slack.

"Lena's health is her problem. What does it have to do with me?"

"How can you be so cold-blooded!" Bernard slammed his hand on the table.

"Cold-blooded?" I laughed.

"Lena stole my place for 18 years, and I'm cold-blooded for telling the truth?"

"What about you?"

"Your real daughter comes home and you immediately plot to send her away—what does that make you?"

The study went dead silent.

I turned and walked out. "Don't worry. I'll move out tomorrow. That way, I won't be an eyesore."

Early the next morning, I packed my things, ready to leave.

Lena stood in my doorway, dressed in pink pajamas, her face the picture of innocence. "Jessie, are you really leaving?"

"What does it matter to you?" I kept packing.

"Jessie," she stepped into the room, her voice barely rose above a whisper, "you don't have to pretend to be so strong. It must hurt, being rejected by your own parents, doesn't it?"

I paused, turning to look at her.

She went on, "Last night, Mom, Dad, and Bernie were talking about making you move out. You must be heartbroken.

"It's okay, you can cry if you want."

"You were eavesdropping outside?"

She smiled sweetly. "I was just passing by."

"Jessie, do you know why they don't love you?"

I looked at her, intrigued. "Why?"

"Because I've lived in this house for 18 years!

"My photos cover the walls, my trophies fill the shelves, and they never forget my birthday.

"And you," she paused, "you have nothing."

"So?"

She leaned closer, lowering her voice, "There's no place for you in this family. Even if you're the real one, you're still unnecessary."

I laughed.

So she was finally showing her true colors.

"Lena," I whispered back, "do you know what DNA is?"

She blinked, caught off guard.

"DNA is proof of blood. No matter how many years you've lived here, no matter how many pictures of you hang on these walls, you're still the impostor. But me—"

I pointed to myself, "I don't have to do anything to be real."

Her expression changed instantly.

"And," I grabbed my suitcase, "who told you I was moving out? I'm just heading to school to pick up a few things. This is my house—why would I leave?"

As I dragged my suitcase downstairs, I ran into Bernard on his way out.

He saw my luggage and frowned. "Where are you going?"

"School," I replied curtly.

"I'll drive you."

"No need."

"I said I'll drive you." His tone was firm.

I shrugged and let him lead the way.

He didn't say a word the whole ride, and I had no interest in starting a conversation.

As we neared the campus, he suddenly spoke. "Don't take last night to heart."

"Mm."

"Mom and Dad don't hate you. It's just that Lenny's health is fragile. She needs extra care."

"Mm."

"Can you stop just saying 'mm'?"

I turned to him. "What do you want me to say? That it's fine, and I understand? That I'll take good care of Lena?"

He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Can't you just act normal for once?"

"What do you mean by normal?"

"Like Lena—always ready to cry, always fainting at the drop of a hat? Is that normal?"

"Lenny isn't faking it!"

I rolled my eyes inwardly.

"Are you really that clueless, Bernard? Or are you just pretending? Do you really think someone with a heart condition can pick the perfect moment to have an episode and still cry so dramatically?"

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You don't understand Lenny at all."

"That's true," I said, getting out of the car.

"But I do know what a real heart attack looks like. My foster mother's sister had one. When it hit, her face turned blue, she couldn't even speak—nothing like Lena, who could still put on a show."

I slammed the car door shut.

Bernard sat in the car for a long time before driving away.

I actually went to campus to complete my enrollment paperwork.

My acceptance letter from MIT was my greatest pride.

After I finished everything, I stopped by the bank.

My account had 40,000 dollars—money I'd saved from years of part-time jobs, plus a little from royalties.

That's right, I was also an online writer. My pen name was "Thirteenth Month," and I wrote gritty, realistic stories about hardship.

Readers always said my writing felt too real, almost painful to read.

They had no idea those stories came straight from my own life.

Just as I was leaving, the bank manager called out, "Ms. Fraser, you have a new card. Mr. Fraser set up a secondary card for you."

Mr. Fraser? Nolan?

I took the black platinum card. The credit limit...

Seven figures.

Money really does make life easier.

But I had no intention of using it.

When I got back to the Fraser's residence, it was lunchtime.

At the table, Lena was sitting right next to Rhonda, the two of them chatting quietly and intimately.

When Lena saw me, she gave me a sugary smile. "Jessie's back! Come eat."

I sat down and realized my seat was shoved all the way to the corner, far from everyone else.

And my place setting was different from theirs.

They had premium ceramic dishes; mine were plain ceramic.

It's the little things that show people's true colors.

"Jessie," Rhonda suddenly said, "next week is Lenny's birthday. We're planning a party for her. You should come."

"My birthday's next week too," I reminded her.

The room fell silent.

Right—Lena and I were born on the exact same day, month, and year. That's why the hospital mix-up happened all those years ago.

Rhonda looked awkward. "Well... then we'll celebrate together."

"No need," Lena said sweetly, ever the considerate one. "Jessie just got here; she's probably not used to big parties. It's better to keep mine separate. Jessie's birthday can be a small family thing."

Translation—Only I, Lena Fraser, deserve a grand birthday celebration.

And you, Jessica, don't measure up.

Nolan nodded. "Lenny's right. Jessie just returned, so it's best not to make a fuss."

Bernard agreed. "Jessie probably doesn't even like big parties."

I set my fork down. "You're all something else."

"What do you mean?" Rhonda asked, confused.

"Lenny and I have the same birthday. You throw her a lavish party, invite all the city's elite, and make sure everyone knows she's your daughter.

"And me? You'll just do something simple at home."

I stood up. "You've made it pretty clear—you only recognize Lena as your daughter. Even if I'm your biological child, I'll never be good enough to be seen."

"You're overthinking it. That's not what we meant," Nolan tried to explain.

"It's exactly what you meant," I cut him off. "But it's fine. I never cared about your party anyway."

I turned and headed upstairs.

Behind me, Lena started to cry, her voice trembling. "It's all my fault. I won't have a party. Let's celebrate Jessie's birthday instead..."

Then came the chorus of comfort.

The same old act, every time.

That night, Rhonda knocked on my door.

"Jessie, can I come in?"

I was reading, not bothering to look up. "Come in."

She walked in, carrying a mug of soup. "I just made this. Try some."

I didn't take it. "I'm not hungry."

She set the soup on the desk and sat at the edge of my bed. "Jessie, I know you're holding a lot of resentment."

"I'm not."

"Just hear me out." She sighed. "Lenny really does have health problems. She was born with a congenital heart defect. The doctors said she might not live past twenty."

I looked up at her.

"So, all these years, we've spoiled her. We just wanted her to be happy while she could."

Rhonda's eyes were red with tears. "Jessie, can you understand?"

I met her gaze, calm and direct. "So what?"

"So, could you try to go easy on her?"

I laughed. "Mom, let me ask you something."

"What is it?"

"If I had been born with a congenital heart condition, too, would you expect Lenny to go easy on me?"

Rhonda froze.

"You wouldn't," I answered for her. "Because to you, Lenny is the daughter you've raised for 18 years. I'm just a stranger you happen to share blood with."

"That's not true!"

I closed my book. "Mom, you should go. I'm tired."

Rhonda looked like she wanted to say more, but in the end, she left, carrying the untouched mug of soup.

Late at night, I heard piano music coming from the room next door.

It was Lena practicing.

She was playing "Für Elise"—and still getting it wrong.

The next morning at breakfast, Lena looked exhausted. "I practiced piano too late last night. Didn't sleep well."

Rhonda fussed over her. "Don't push yourself so hard; your health comes first."

Bernard piled food onto her plate. "Eat more, you need the nutrition."

I sipped my soup, saying nothing.

"Jessie," Lena suddenly looked at me, "you play piano too, right?"

She must've known I heard her last night—now she was trying to provoke me on purpose.

"A little," I replied flatly.

"That's great!" she clapped her hands, all excitement. "Could you teach me? There are a few parts I just can't get right."

Rhonda jumped in immediately. "Jessie, if you have time, help Lenny out."

I set down my mug. "I don't have time."

The atmosphere turned awkward.

Bernard frowned. "What's the harm in helping her?"

"It'd be a waste of my time." I stood up. "Her fundamentals are all wrong. I'm not interested in teaching someone from scratch."

"How do you know my basics are wrong?" Lena protested.

I glanced at her. "At the third measure of 'Für Elise,' your fingering was off. Seventh measure, your rhythm was wrong. Eleventh measure, you lost control of the dynamics. Want me to keep going?"

Lena's face went pale.

I'd only listened once last night, but I remembered every mistake she made.

That's my talent.

Three days before the birthday party, the whole house was buzzing with activity.

Decorations, fresh flowers, gowns—everything was for Lena.

I was invisible. No one asked if I needed anything.

Honestly, I preferred the peace.

That afternoon, I was reading in my room when Lena pushed the door open.

She was holding a box. "Jessie, I brought you a birthday gift."

I didn't take it. "I don't need it."

"Don't be like that," she said, settling onto my bed. "I really want us to get along."

"Do you?"

"Of course." She opened the box to reveal a necklace. "This is my favorite necklace. I want you to have it."

I glanced at it—a classic piece from some luxury brand, probably worth around 10,000 dollars.

To the Fraser family, it was nothing.

But the fact that she called it her "favorite" made it interesting.

"I don't want it." I went back to my book.

"Jessie," she suddenly grabbed my hand.

"I know you hate me. You hate that I took your place.

"But Jessie, it's not my fault.

"I'm a victim too. I wish I had my real parents."

As she spoke, tears started streaming down her face.

I pulled my hand away. "Who are you performing for?"

Her sobs grew louder.

"I'm not performing!

"Jessie, do you know? Every time Mom and Dad call me Lenny, I think about how wonderful it would be if I were their biological daughter.

"But I'm not. I never will be!"

Suddenly, the door swung open. Rhonda stood in the doorway. "Lenny, why are you crying?"

What perfect timing.

Lena threw herself into Rhonda's arms. "Mom, Jessie doesn't want my gift. Is it because I'm not good enough to give her a present?"

Rhonda shot me a glare. "Jessie, Lenny was being thoughtful and brought you a gift. How could you act like this?"

I closed my book and replied calmly, "First, I never asked for it.

"Second, I have the right to refuse.

"Third, her tears have nothing to do with me."

"You!" Rhonda was so angry that she was shaking. "How can you be so cold and heartless?"

Cold and heartless—the second time I'd heard that today.

"Mom," I stood up, "have you ever wondered why Lenny just happens to start crying every time you walk in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, she's putting on a show." I walked to the door.

"She knows exactly when you'll come to my room, so she comes early with a gift, then starts crying right as you arrive. Her goal is to make you think I'm bullying her."

Rhonda refused to believe it. "Lenny isn't like that!"

"Think whatever you want." I pushed past them. "Excuse me, I need to get out."

At the top of the stairs, I looked back and saw Lena hugging Rhonda, flashing me a triumphant smile.

I smiled back.

I'd seen this kind of act too many times before.

The day before my birthday, a package arrived for me.

It was my MIT class schedule and dorm assignment, sent ahead of time.

I'd requested an early move-in, so I could settle in next week.

Perfect—one less reason to stay in this house and be an eyesore.

That evening, the Fraser's residence filled up with relatives who'd come for tomorrow's birthday party.

Everyone fussed over Lena, showering her with compliments about her looks and her manners.

No one paid any attention to me, tucked away in the corner.

Until an elderly woman walked over. "You must be Jessie?"

I looked up. It was Nolan's mother, my grandmother, Claire Fraser.

"Grandma." I stood to greet her.

She looked me up and down, her gaze critical. "You certainly look like a Fraser."

Just "look like a Fraser"—not saying I was one.

The wording was subtle, but I caught it.

"I heard you had it rough out there?"

"It wasn't so bad."

"Not so bad?" She snorted. "I've heard all about your adoptive parents. Kids raised in that kind of environment, what good can come of them?"

I met her eyes calmly. "You're right, Grandma. I haven't amounted to much."

She hesitated, probably not expecting me to agree so easily.

"Unlike Lenny," I went on, "who's been spoiled since birth, piano and dance lessons, the works. Oh, by the way, which college did she get into?"

Claire's expression changed.

Lena had only gotten into a second-tier university—a disgrace for this family.

"I may not be much, but I got lucky and got into MIT.

"Massachusetts Institute of Technology—one of the top universities in the country. You've heard of it, right?"

Claire's face twisted with anger. "You—"

"Don't be upset, Grandma," Lena appeared at just the right moment, taking Claire's arm. "Jessie didn't mean it."

"Lenny's always so considerate."

Claire patted her hand, shot me a glare, and walked away.

Lena turned to me. "Jessie, why did you have to upset Grandma?"

"I was just telling the truth."

"But—"

"Lenny," I interrupted, "aren't you tired?"

"What?"

"Pretending to be the perfect daughter for 18 years—doesn't it exhaust you?" I leaned in close. "I know exactly who you are."

Her face faltered. "Jessie, I don't know what you mean."

"It's better if you don't," I said, turning to leave.

On the day of the birthday, the Fraser's residence was decked out in lights and decorations.

Early in the morning, makeup artists and stylists arrived, all circling Lena.

I stayed in my room, packing up, getting ready to move to campus.

Rhonda knocked and came in. "Jessie, aren't you going to get ready?"

"For what?"

"Today's the birthday party."

I looked up at her. "I thought I wasn't invited to attend?"

"It's not that you can't... It's just..." She looked uncomfortable. "You can watch from upstairs. If you get hungry, come down and grab something to eat."

Oh, so I was supposed to hide upstairs, out of sight from the guests.

"I understand."

Rhonda looked relieved and turned to leave.

"Mom," I called after her, "have you ever thought—if there hadn't been that mix-up years ago, the one in the dress getting all the blessings today would be me?"

She froze.

"And Lenny would be in some small town, worrying about how to pay for college."

"Jessie..."

"I'm not trying to steal her birthday," I smiled, "I just want you to know—fate works in mysterious ways."

Rhonda hurried out, almost fleeing.

By seven that evening, the guests had started to arrive.

I stood by the third-floor window, watching the endless parade of cars below.

All the big names in Boston were here.

Lena, dressed in a custom gown, accepted everyone's blessings like a princess.

Nolan gave a speech, calling her the most beloved member of this family.

Bernard gifted her a sports car.

Rhonda gave her a set of jewelry.

Her coming-of-age party was as perfect as a fairytale.

I thought back to my last birthday, spent in the back kitchen of the restaurant where I worked.

The owner felt sorry for me and gave me a stale, expired cake.

I pulled out my phone, logged into my "Thirteenth Month" account, and posted, "It's my birthday today. Happy birthday to me."

Within seconds, the comments flooded in. "Happy birthday, Thirteenth Month!"

"When's your next story coming?"

"Happy birthday! Always supporting you!"

I smiled.

See, there are still people who remember my birthday.

Even if they have no idea who I really am.

I was scrolling through the comments when the door swung open.

Bernard walked in, carrying a small cake. "Happy birthday."

I looked at him, surprised.

He seemed a little awkward. "Don't get the wrong idea. Mom asked me to bring this up."

The cake was tiny, with "Happy Birthday" written on top—no mention of my name.

"Thank you." I took the cake from him.

He stood there, not leaving. "Aren't you upset?"

"Why would I be?"

"Downstairs..."

"Downstairs is Lenny's stage. What does that have to do with me?" I opened the box. "I don't care about any of that."

He frowned. "Can't you act normal for once?"

I shot back, "Is throwing a fit and begging to join the party considered normal?"

He was at a loss for words.

"Bernard," I looked up at him, "do you know why I applied for MIT?"

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to rely on myself."

I took a bite of the cake. It was sweet.

"I don't need your charity, your pity, and certainly not your favors.

"I am a fully grown adult—a smart one, at that. I can carve out my own future."

He stared at me, stunned.

"So don't look at me like I'm someone to be pitied."

I smiled. "I'm Jessica Fraser. I'm not pitiful."

He was silent for a long time before he finally spoke. "Do you hate us?"

I shook my head. "Hate requires some kind of emotional foundation. There's nothing like that between us."

That hit home.

His expression shifted, and he turned to leave.

At the door, he paused. "Jessica, you know, you're almost too rational. Not at all like an 18-year-old girl."

I gazed out the window. "I stopped being a girl when I was ten."

When I was ten, my adoptive father brought people home to gamble. He lost and shoved me out to pour drinks for them.

From that moment on, I knew I had to be rational, had to be strong.

Because no one else would protect me.

After Bernard left, I finished the little cake by myself.

It was sweet—almost sickeningly so.

The music downstairs played late into the night.

The next day, I moved into my dorm.

When I left, only the maid was home.

Nolan and Rhonda had taken Lena to the hospital—too much excitement last night, her heart was acting up.

Bernard was at the office.

Just as well. No need for goodbyes.

My dorm room was a quad, and I was the first to arrive.

Once I'd unpacked, I wandered over to the library.

MIT's library was enormous, with millions of books.

I found a quiet corner, pulled out my laptop, and started writing a new story.

This time, I wanted to write a happy ending for everyone.

Even if it doesn't exist in reality, at least it can in words.

By evening, my phone rang.

It was Rhonda. "Jessie, where did you go? Why aren't you at home?"

"I moved to campus."

"What? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Would you have cared if I did?"

She was silent on the other end.

I said, "Take good care of Lena. I'm doing fine."

I hung up and went back to my writing.

When I returned to the dorm that night, my roommates had all arrived.

Three girls, all friendly.

One of them stared at me for a moment. "Aren't you that Fraser girl...?"

"Yeah." I knew what she was about to ask.

The entire story of my return had made headlines.

"Then why are you living on campus?" another roommate asked, curious.

"I'm not used to living at home." I kept it simple.

They didn't press and started chatting about other things.

I lay on my bed, listening to their conversation, feeling a sense of ease I hadn't felt in ages.

Here, I was just Jessica, a freshman at MIT.

Not someone's biological daughter, not anyone's replacement.