Mira did not hate Althea.
That was the tragedy of it.
Her sister wasn't cruel. She was kind. She helped Mira study, shared clothes, defended her sometimes—yet unknowingly, she was still the standard Mira was beaten with.
One night, Mira overheard their parents talking.
"Althea will succeed in life," her father said proudly.
"And Mira?" her mother sighed softly. "She's… different."
Different.
That word echoed in Mira's chest like thunder.
She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, tears silently falling. She wasn't angry. She was tired. Tired of never being enough. Tired of trying to earn love that should have been freely given.
That night, something inside her cracked.
Not loud.
Not broken.
Just cracked.