Chapter 2

A year after Esme's death, my parents started frequently browsing adoption websites.

I hid behind the door, listening to their hushed discussions.

Mom pointed at the computer screen: “This one’s eyes look like Esme’s.”

“The chin doesn’t quite match,” Dad leaned in for a closer look, “Keep looking.”

They went through hundreds of photos and finally chose Phoebe and Lydia.

The day the two girls were brought home, Mom hugged them and cried her heart out.

I stood awkwardly at the stairway corner, unsure of what to do.

“Call them older sisters,” Mom nudged my shoulder.

Phoebe and Lydia were both two years older than me, born the same year as Esme.

They looked at me timidly, with a hint of appeasement in their eyes.

I opened my mouth but couldn’t make a sound.

“Are you mute?” Mom suddenly raised her voice, “I told you to call them older sisters!”

My nails dug into my palms.

Phoebe hurriedly took Mom’s hand, “Aunt, don’t be mad. It’s normal for Nora to not accept it right away. Give it time.”

Mom immediately changed her tone, gently stroking her hair, “Phoebe is so understanding.”

That night, I heard Phoebe and Lydia whispering in the guest room.

“This family is so strange,” Phoebe said, “They’re so harsh to their biological daughter.”

“I heard their daughter died,” Lydia lowered her voice, “We look like the deceased one.”

“Who cares, as long as we have food, drinks, and money.”