No Refund On My Existence

My sister and I are twins.

From the moment she was born, my sister, Harper, was labeled a high-demand baby. She needed constant attention, endless soothing, and deep, consistent affection. Any slight discomfort sent her into a fit of raw, heart-wrenching screams. I, on the other hand, was low-demand. I rarely cried, caused no fuss, and was, to my parents, blessedly easy.

So, on the day of the divorce, standing outside the Registrar's office, my parents only argued about one thing: who would take Harper.

My mother, Valerie, shielded Harper with her body. "Harper is fragile. Who will care for her when Im not around?"

My father, Mitchell, reached for Harpers suitcase. "She's coming with me! My place is closer to the best high school. Its better for her future."

I stood awkwardly beside them, my fingernails digging deep crescents into my palm. I finally managed a quiet, almost pleading question. "What about me?"

My mother glanced at me, as if she were noticing me for the first time that day. "Paige, youve always been so sensible, so low-maintenance. Go with your dad. Your sister is still young; she needs me."

My father immediately frowned, cutting her off. "No! I only want Harper. I'm the one who raised her!"

They tossed my name back and forth like a worn tennis ball, neither of them wanting to catch it.

Finally, my mother sighed in exasperation, pulling out her phone. "Fine. Lets just start a group chat. Anything about Paige, well discuss it in there."

The group was created instantly, its name a blunt, transactional title: Ellison Minor Communication.

My father was quick to post the "Group Rules":

a. By the 15th of every month, both parties transfer $200 to Paige.

b. Any single expenditure over 0-05 must be put to a group vote.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

I remembered the phrase they always repeated: Youre the older one, your sister needs more. You have to be the bigger person, Paige.

It turned out that by always being the bigger person, I had given up even the right to be fought over.

The school dorms were emptying one by one as winter break began.

I stood alone in the small room, surrounded by the mess of packing, my frozen fingers waiting for a reply. It had been two hours since Id sent the message to the group chat.

[Mom and Dad, Im done with school today. Could someone please come and pick me up?]

The academy was thirty miles from home, and there was no direct bus line. I had exactly $5.20 to my namenot nearly enough for an Uber.

After what felt like an eternity, my phone vibrated. It was a long voice message from my mother. My heart hitched, and I tremulously pressed play.

My mother's voice, distant and slightly muffled, drifted out. Call your father! Im with your sister in Key West for the winter. It's warm here, and her chest is so delicate; she cant handle the biting cold back home. It makes her cough instantly.

My eyes burned as I stared at the screen until it automatically dimmed. She didn't send anything else.

I took a shaky breath, gathered my courage, and, holding onto a sliver of hope, directly @-ed my father in the group.

[Dad, Mom says she's busy. Could you possibly come?]

A moment later, my father didnt reply with words. He dropped a photo into the chat. He and his new wife were beaming over a luxurious platter of oysters and a prime rib, their faces flushed with the warmth of the trendy steakhouse.

This was immediately followed by a voice note, thick with irritation. Now you decide to find me? Where were you three days ago? Can't you see I'm tied up? The school is huge, doesnt it have a library or something you can hang out in? Figure it out yourself!

My throat tightened, and tears instantly blurred my vision. My hands trembling, I typed out a detailed explanation, every word a near-plea.

[Dad, I asked in the chat three days ago. You might not have seen it... The dorm is truly locking down soon. I have nowhere to go.**]

After another excruciating few minutes, a notification popped up. My father had sent a transfer: $50.

Below it were two lines of cold, functional instructions:

[Find yourself a holiday job with room and board.]

[You're old enough now. Don't expect the family to solve everything for you. I have my own life to manage!]

A year ago, when they divorced, both parents had desperately fought for Harper. Both saw me as a burden. The easiest solution had been to dump me into this remote, full-time boarding high school, out of sight and out of mind.

My mother always suspected I secretly favored my father; my father always thought I was secretly aligned with my mother. And so, the communication group became their battlefielda place for mutual evasion.

The four hundred dollars a month was barely enough for food. Any other expense, if it exceeded that punitive fifteen dollars, was subject to the "family court."

Early in the semester, the school requested a $20 Student Activities Fee. I typed the message carefully, weighing every word.

[Dad, Mom, the teacher needs twenty dollars for the Student Activities Fee, for shared class expenses.]

My mothers voice reply, half an hour later, was full of derision. Those fees are a scam. They dont use the money for anything useful. We didnt have those silly fees when we were in school, and we turned out fine. I vote no.

My father quickly followed up with text: [I didn't pay for that stuff either. I vote no.]

I was the only one in class who didn't pay the fee and was publicly singled out by the teacher. While the other students watched a movie or printed study guides, I had to keep my head down, pretending to read, burning with shame.

After a few more votes, I finally understood. The "voting" was a mere formality. The result was always predetermined. They had no intention of spending a single extra dime on me. Every last penny, they felt, would be a waste.

I would rather skip meals than face that humiliating inquisition in the chat again.

My phone vibrated again. It was Harper. Shed updated her social media. The photo grid showed her in a brand-new, expensive sundress, beaming.

The caption: Even though Mom and Dad are separated, their love for me hasn't shrunk one bit! Celebrating the holidays by the beachI'm so incredibly happy!

I stared at the photo grid, the ability to process emotion momentarily gone.

The realization that your parents don't love you is truly a slow, painful process. Its like being cut by a dull blade, slice after slice. It doesn't kill you, but the pain is endless.

I forced myself to absorb the message. From now on, I had no home.

I dragged my suitcase two long, frozen blocks down the street.

My face was numb from the biting wind when I finally found a small diner with a handwritten sign: Dishwasher Wanted.

On Christmas Eve, I ate a pack of the cheapest ramen, boiled in an electric kettle in the cramped, airless storage room that served as my break area.

As the crushing loneliness washed over me, my mother called. I hesitated but ultimately answered.

"Paige? Where are you? Did you eat a holiday dinner?"

I stared at the swirling, oily surface of the ramen. My throat seized up. "I'm eating now," I managed, dryly.

"Oh." She paused, seemingly unsure how to proceed, before her conversation naturally steered back to the center of her universe. "Your sister was so happy today. We had a huge seafood feast for dinnerKing Crab, lobster, abalone..."

She stopped again, as if remembering I was on the other end, and stiffly changed the subject. "You havent been running around, have you? It's chaos outside during the holidays. Be safe."

I clenched my phone, my knuckles white. A sudden, sharp wave of intense grievance and anger surged through me. The tears Id held back all day finally spilled over.

I forced myself to speak past the sudden, painful lump in my throat. "Do you truly care how I'm doing, where I'm staying, or what I'm eating?"

The other end of the line went silent for a second. Then, my mothers voice shot back, shrill and wounded. "Paige Ellison! I am your mother! How dare you speak to me like that? Im worried about you, and this is how you repay me? You ingrate! You're just like your father! We gave birth to you, we raised you..."

I hung up, lifted my chin, and fought hard not to let the tears fall again.

When the winter break ended, I returned to the academy with the couple thousand dollars Id earned washing dishes.

On the first day of the new semester, someone tagged me in the group.

My Dad: [@PaigeEllison Heard you made a couple thousand dollars working? Great. You can handle your own living expenses from now on.]

My mom instantly agreed, the perfect partner in crime: [Agreed. Harper's piano lessons are expensive this semester. Its good you can be self-sufficient.]

I stared at those two lines of text. My chest felt like it had been slammed by a heavy weighta brief, suffocating pain, followed by absolute numbness.

From that day on, I became a machine. I studied relentlessly. Every hour was spent reviewing, and I signed up for every single academic competition I could find. My friends and teachers, noticing my plight, often helped me out with meals or small necessities.

By the time of the final senior year mock exam, my name was posted on the Honors BoardTop 20 in the entire class.

The day grades were released, my mother tagged me in the chat. [Heard your mock results were pretty good?]

My father immediately chimed in. [Really Top 20? Your college application needs to be for Finance or Computer Science. Thats where the real money is.]

After two years, they were finally, collaboratively, planning my future. I felt a wave of nausea, an impulse to vomit right there.

I typed a single, cold word in reply: [Fine.]

My phone exploded with notifications.

My Mom: [What is that attitude? You think you're hot stuff just because of one test? Ingrate!]

My Dad: [With that disposition, no wonder we always preferred Harper! You have absolutely no respect!]

I was about to fire back one of my own when a new message popped up. It was my mother. I could practically hear the calculator clicking in her mind. Her text dripped with a chilling greed:

[How much did we spend raising you to eighteen? You will pay it all back when you get a job!]

My father immediately put a price tag on me:

[At least forty-five thousand dollars. Every penny is due.]

[We invested too much in you to just give it away!]

Forty-five thousand. Staring at the number, a wave of profound coldness washed over me, starting at my feet and shooting straight to my head.

They had kept a ledger. Every dollar spent on me had been recorded as a debt. For Harper, it was always open-handed, no-questions-asked generosity.

Utterly and completely disillusioned, I calmly exited the group chat.

Then, I blocked and deleted "Dad," "Mom," and "Sister."

When I finished, a lightness spread through my body.

After graduation, I found a job as a server at an upscale bistro.

One evening, while carrying a tray of appetizers, I heard a familiar voice. "Harper, what do you want? Daddys treating!"

My body froze. I slowly turned my head.

At a table near the window sat my father in a new suit, my mother with a delicate clutch, and Harper was reading the menu.

Harper pouted playfully. "Oh, Daddy, all these dishes look so boring..."

My father waved a dismissive hand. "Then order the most expensive thing on the menu!"

My mother glanced up, and her eyes locked onto mine. Her look of shock quickly morphed into a subtle, mocking smirk.

"Well, well. Look who it is. Isn't this our little college grad?"

Harper looked me up and down, a flicker of disdain in her eyes. "Paige, are you working here? That looks so hard."

I tightened my grip on the heavy tray, my nails biting into my palm. "Welcome. Are you ready to order?"

My father let out a harsh chuckle. "You were pretty tough when you blocked us, weren't you? I thought youd gotten some high-powered job, but youre just carrying plates."

My mother chimed in. "Seriously, blocking your own parents. We thought you were too good for us."

I lowered my eyes and repeated the question. "Are you ready to order?"

After they ordered, my mother casually asked, "I heard you did well on the exam?"

"She asked you a question!" My father tapped the table, annoyed. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I did fine," I said.

"And 'fine' means what score?" my mother pressed.

"Scores aren't official yet."

"But what did you estimate? You didn't choke and miss the cutoff, did you?"

For the next hour, I was their personal servant, spun around like a top.

"Paige, cut my steak, please. These claws make it impossible."

"Make sure there are no bones in the fish. I got stuck last time."

"The water is too cold, go get me a refill with lemon."

Harper's condescending demands came one after the other. Even the surrounding patrons glanced over, confused by the strange dynamic.

I kept my head bowed, repeating the mantra: Just get through this. Save the money and leave.

Finally, they finished. Harper wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and raised her chin elegantly. "Check, please."

I brought the bill. "The total is three hundred eighty dollars."

My father took the bill, tossed it back on the table, and said, "Let's go."

The three of them stood up and started to walk away.

I froze, then hurried to intercept them. "You havent paid yet."

Harper blinked at me, feigning an innocent, confused expression. "Paige, youre treating your parents, aren't you? It's the least you can do."

"I'm treating you?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"Of course," my mother scoffed, utterly convinced of her entitlement. "You work here. Just deduct it from your paycheck."

My father was already near the door, turning back impatiently. "Its just a dinner bill, for Christ's sake. Stop making a scene."

The blood rushed to my head. I looked at the delicate, expensive-looking gold bracelet on Harper's wrist. It was a recent birthday gift from my mother.

I had never once had a birthday celebration in my life.

I lunged forward and, with a swift pull, snatched the bracelet from her wrist.

"Ah!" Harper shrieked. "What are you doing?"

"Since you won't pay the bill, this is collateral!"

"You've lost your mind! How dare you steal your sister's bracelet!"

My father reacted first, roaring in anger. He swung his arm and delivered a savage slap across my face.

CRACK!

The sound was sharp and deafening, making my ears ring. My vision momentarily swam. The force of the blow sent me stumbling backward, crashing into a nearby table. Silverware and dishes clattered and shattered on the floor.

Next, my mother grabbed a handful of my hair and started dragging me toward the exit.

"Let go of me! What right do you have?"

I struggled, but she half-pulled, half-dragged me, until we were outside on the sidewalk. She violently shoved me onto the pavement and started shouting at the top of her lungs, gathering a crowd.

"Everyone, look at this shameless thief! This is my older daughter! She just stole her sisters gold bracelet!"

"It's worth thousands! How could I have given birth to such a disgrace!"

I sat sprawled on the cold concrete, my cheek swollen and throbbing, my hair disheveled, and my uniform stained. I looked up at my mother, unable to comprehend the words.

This was the "mother" I had sought validation from for eighteen years. This was the "love" I had desperately waited for. Now, it had materialized as the sharpest, most malicious knife, plunged directly into my public shame.

"I didn't steal! I didn't!" I tried to explain, but my words were repeatedly drowned out by my mother's hysterics.

She clutched her chest, acting as though my actions had shocked her to the core. "She was always sticky-fingered as a child, and now she's grown up into a thief! Shes trying to kill us with stress!"

The crowd instantly swarmed, murmuring judgments. I covered my swollen face, catching sight of a few familiar facesclassmates from the academy. They stared at me in shock, whispering to one another.

"Isnt that Paige Ellison?"

"She was our class Valedictorian. She's a thief?"

"Tsk, tsk. You really never know what's going on beneath the surface..."

Standing at the center of the mob, I felt as if I were being crushed by giant, suffocating mountains. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't climb over them.

I instinctively looked at my father. He stood apart, arms crossed, his face devoid of sympathy. Instead, there was a clear, terrible glint of self-satisfied pride.

Encouraged by the crowd's condemnation, my mother gripped my arm tighter. "Hand over the bracelet! Get down and apologize to Harper!"

Harper hid behind my father, clutching her red, claw-marked wrist. "Paige, I would have given you something else if you asked! Why did you have to steal?"

"I didn't steal!" I screamed. "They tried to dine and dash"

"Lies!" My father cut me off, his voice severe. "We raised you! And you try to extort us over one meal? Ingrate!"

More and more people gathered, their judging whispers like needles stabbing my skin.

"Kids these days are terrifying."

"Her parents wasted their time."

"Someone call the police and arrest her!"

My mother forcibly pushed my head down. "You apologize to her right now! Or this isnt over!"

I was shaking, tears streaming down my face. The last, fragile thread of longing for any kind of familial bond snapped completely.

Just as she was about to force me to my knees, I found a wellspring of strength I didn't know I had. I straightened my back and screamed with everything I had.

"I'm calling the police!"

The crowd instantly fell silent.

My mother subconsciously released her grip. "W-what did you say?"

I wiped my eyes and spoke clearly, one word at a time. "I said I'm calling the police. I am reporting you for theft of services, for public assault, and for criminal defamation."

I pulled out my phone with a trembling hand and firmly dialed 9-1-1.

"Hello, police? I need to report a crime..."