Let The Golden Girl Burn Alone

I only found out after I died that I was the sacrificial pawn in a Golden Girl novelthe scorned side character whose miserable end paved the way for the protagonist's glorious ascent.

My death, apparently, jolted my neglectful, son-obsessed parents into valuing a daughter. It taught my arrogant younger brother compassionwhich he then lavished upon the heroine. It made my cold childhood crush regret his callousnesswhich he then compensated the heroine for.

And the heroine, Phoebe, basking in the glow of all this undeserved affection, magnanimously forgave them on my behalf.

Shed want me to be happy, even from the afterlife.

Happier in the afterlife? Bullshit.

When I opened my eyes again, I was fifteen. It was the very day my parents brought Phoebe home.

Juniper Wallace, what are you doing just lying there? Get up and make sure your sisters room is ready!

My mother, Elaine, viciously twisted my ear, yanking me straight off the bed.

The blinding pain snapped me back to the present. I wasn't dead?

I stumbled to the mirror. Seeing my own impossibly young, pale face, my eyes welled with tears.

My death in the last life hadn't been sudden.

Before it happened, Id known I was seriously ill. I begged Mom and Dad to take me to the doctor, but they were taking Miles to the amusement park and ignored me.

I had to smash the meager savings I'd hoarded from years of recycling cans and bottles just to drag myself, step by agonizing step, to a local clinic.

The clinic doctor, seeing how critical my condition was, called an ambulance to the city hospital.

But it was too late.

I died from severe depression and long-term malnutrition that led to kidney failure. A miracle couldn't have saved me.

Yet, when they first heard the news, there was little emotional tremor. They were almost relievedone less mouth to feed, one less bill.

But slowly, the consequences set in.

No one woke up early anymore to make their breakfast.

No one came home early to cook dinner and wait for them.

The sheets and duvet covers weren't changed weekly.

The laundry wasn't folded neatly and put away in the drawers.

And when my parents were angry, there was no longer a human punching bag.

They began to regret how vile they had been to me, how obsessively they prioritized Miles. They started staring at my grainy, unflattering funeral portrait, weeping through the nights.

So, they funneled all that belated guilt and debt into Phoebe, the sister theyd shipped off to the country two years earlier.

They bought Phoebe the best clothes and fed her the finest food.

My cynical younger brother, Miles, suddenly became a doting, reformed older sibling, and from that day on, Phoebe never had to lift a finger.

The most monstrous part was Phoebe herself. She had witnessed my entire miserable life, yet she had the audacity to declare to them:

June wont blame you in the afterlife, Mommy and Daddy. Shed want you to be at peace. After all, were family.

My soul had nearly detonated with rage. Phoebe never suffered my pain, so how dare she forgive everyone on my behalf?

Later, I learned the truth: I was the book's expendable character, and Phoebe was the celebrated heroine, designed to build her "Golden Girl" status on the rubble of my life.

I remembered protecting Phoebe before I died, taking all the parental abuse and neglect onto myself to shield her from a similar fate. But on the night I died, Phoebe was downstairs. She heard my cries for help but did nothing. She wouldn't even corroborate my story, knowing our parents thought I was being dramatic.

She never said a word.

The familiar scene jolted me out of the flashback. I twisted hard, shaking free from my mothers grip, and stared at Elaine with cold, lethal fury.

Perhaps it was the first time she had ever seen that look in my eyes, because she actually flinched and recoiled slightly.

But in an instant, my mother recovered, her face contorting. She struck me across the face with a hard slap.

Are you trying to test me, looking at me like that? You need a good beating!

My parents obsession with a son was the axis of our lives. I was the firstborn. When Phoebe was bornanother girlthey broke. They sent her to a distant relative's farm when she was two.

They got lucky with their next pregnancy: Miles. After he was born, our home was finally filled with celebratory cheer.

I always thought Phoebe had it worse, being separated from them so young. But all their resentment was redirected to me. Even before Miles was born, they began calling me a jinx, a failure who couldn't bring them a son.

After Miles arrived, the neglect became habit: daily abuse, incessant criticism, and all the household chores dumped onto my shoulders.

In reality, Phoebe was loved by the relatives in the country. She didn't have pretty dresses, but she had all the unconditional love two old people could give.

In that moment of clarity, I realized the only truly pitiful person was me.

I held my burning cheek, silent, the hatred in my heart a heavy, unmoving stone.

Mom dragged me downstairs. By the front door stood Phoebe, timid and nervous. Her skin was a healthy tan, and her cheeks were plump. I, in contrast, was skin and bone, my collarbone prominent.

Mommy, Daddy, I missed you so much! I thought you didnt want me anymore.

Phoebe burst into tears and threw herself into their arms.

They wouldn't have even bothered bringing her back if the elderly relative hadnt passed away.

Phoebe recounted a tearful tale of hardship, heavily implying our parents were cruel for abandoning her. Since they were already racked with guiltand convinced Phoebe was the lucky charm who brought them Milesthey showered her with compensatory affection.

I was too young to see the cunning spark in Phoebes eyes back then. I hadnt noticed she showed zero grief when her guardian died, or that she never mentioned visiting the surviving relative since shed been back.

I should have known then: Phoebe was a self-serving opportunist, a wolf in sheeps clothing.

After a tearful family reunion huddle, Phoebe acted as if shed just noticed me, her eyes becoming doe-like and pathetic.

Im so envious of you, June. You got to stay here with Mommy and Daddy and live a good life. I never even got to see them.

It was the exact same scene, the exact same words as my past life. Back then, ignorant of the truth, I felt an immediate kinship with Phoebe, believing her life had been rough.

We were both daughters in this awful house. Fearing she'd suffer as I did, I protected her fiercely, always stepping in front of her. Even when she messed up, I took the blame.

And that white-eyed wolf, in return, forgave my abusers on my behalf after I died.

Not this time. I won't be a coward. I won't beg for a shred of affection that was never mine.

I managed a chilling smile.

Ill admit, Im a little envious, I said, my voice sweet as poison. Looks like Gramps and Grandma fed you well.

Phoebe froze, clearly not expecting me to call attention to her weight. She was speechless.

My mother wheeled around, glaring at me.

What is that supposed to mean? Are you blaming us for starving you, you ungrateful wretch? Are you lacking food or clothes in this house?

If this were before, I wouldn't have dared talk back. I was too afraid, and a sliver of me always hoped that if I just kept quiet, they might still care. I was just waiting to be loved.

But I had already died once. They were the reason I didn't live a full life.

I let out a cold, sharp scoff.

You tell me, Mother. Dont you know the answer already?

Elaine lunged as if to hit me again, but I was already back in my room. I shut the door and ignored the stream of vulgar curses directed at me from the hallway.

I was only fifteen; I couldn't physically leave. But I could claw my way toward a new future.

That night, Phoebe knocked on my door. I was finally reading, something Id never had the time or energy for in the past life, my grades a hopeless mess.

Now, let someone else deal with the chaos downstairs. I wasnt sacrificing my future for them.

I didn't want to answer, but Phoebe was persistent, her soft tapping utterly grating.

I yanked the door open in annoyance. Phoebe stood there, wearing one of my new dresses. It was stretched tight across her body, but she clearly loved it.

June, she said, looking innocent. Mommy said she didnt have time to take me shopping, so she let me wear your new dress. You arent mad, are you?

It was true. My mother rarely bought me clothes. This dress was bought before the school year, a token meant only to save face.

Now, Phoebe had gotten to it first.

It was exactly what I expected, and I felt nothing. I had been ignored for so long that I was used to it. An article of clothing was nothing; Id spent years eating their leftovers.

I just couldn't figure out why Phoebe had bothered to come and gloat. Did she need proof that she was the favored daughter now?

This petty Mean Girls routine felt tiresome.

I just gave a flat, indifferent grunt: Oh.

Phoebes face visibly clouded over.

She clearly wanted me to throw a fit, to fight with her so she could showcase her superior maturity and compliance, proving to Mom and Dad that she was the only daughter worth keeping.

But Phoebe had miscalculated. In this house, only Miles was unconditionally cherished. Phoebe and I were merely the failed products. Right now, Phoebe was novel, but I hadnt died yet, so their regret was still shallow.

Phoebe stood frozen for a moment, then immediately burst into fake tears.

June, do you hate me? If youre upset, Ill give the dress back right now!

I watched her coldly, and simply held out my hand.

Phoebe blinked, confused.

You said youd give it to me, I explained flatly.

Now it was Phoebes turn to feel awkward. She clutched the hem of the dress, unable to take it off, and instead began to sob hysterically.

Mom and Dad rushed into my room, drawn by the noise. Seeing Phoebe crying, Elaine didn't ask a single question; she raised her hand to hit me.

How dare you! You're the older sister, and she just got here! How could you make her cry?

I darted back, easily dodging my mothers swing, and fixed her with a hard, level gaze.

Phoebe came in here, wearing my new clothes to provoke me. She said if I was unhappy, shed give it back. I told her I was unhappy, and she wont return it. Now shes crying. What exactly did I do wrong?

My parents were prejudiced, but they weren't stupid. And now that I had found my voice, I wouldnt be silenced. Last time, Phoebe often tried to pit us against each other, but I always covered for her. Now, she wouldn't treat me like a soft target.

Phoebe was crying without a scratch on her, and our parents hated unnecessary drama.

Mom and Dad looked skeptically at Phoebe. She only cried harder.

June, you misunderstood! I was just worried youd be angry, but you shouldn't say such cruel things! You said I was a child they didn't want! They love me!

Ah, that was her real goal.

My parents eyes immediately hardened with rage. Sending Phoebe away was the thing they were most ashamed of; the neighborhood had scorned them for it. Phoebe had just ripped off their social fig leaf.

Phoebe had some low-level cunning; shed figured out how to wound our parents just hours after arriving.

I calmly reached into my backpack, turned on my voice recorder, and played back the entire conversationall of Phoebe's sniffling drama and manipulative lines.

Id bought the recorder with hoarded money to practice my English pronunciation. Now, it served a better purpose.

Mom and Dad's faces went pale. Phoebe panicked and grabbed Elaines sleeve.

Mommy, June is scary! Shes recording our own family!

Elaine gently stroked Phoebes head.

There, there, darling. Go get some rest.

It was the expected reaction. I hadn't presented the evidence for justice; I knew they were biased, and I was the least-favored child.

If this were my previous life, I would have been heartbroken. But now, it was irrelevant. I knew what I wanted, and their flimsy affection was no longer necessary.

On the first day of the school year, I used to wake up before dawn to make breakfast. This time, I left early and bought breakfast with my own savings.

From now on, I would eat well and regularly. I wouldn't waste away from malnutrition.

I also applied for on-campus housing. Before, my parents flat-out refused; they needed me for chores. I went to my guidance counselor, Ms. Peterson. Though my grades were weak, she was kind-hearted and guaranteed the deposit for me, even covering the first month herself.

I promised her I would study relentlessly, get into a good university, and repay her kindness. She even provided me with a bedding set.

My throat burned. A stranger, a person with no blood connection to me, had done this. My parents had only ever treated me like a tool.

After that, I stayed on campus, only returning for necessities on weekends. I studied under the desk lamp every night. My grades skyrocketed from the bottom percentiles to the top of the class. Ms. Peterson was delighted.

Phoebe, spoiled and enabled by her country relatives, was completely unmotivated. Relying on our parents misplaced guilt, she simply slacked off. She was two years younger, but her grades were already abysmal.

When it came time for the high school entrance exams, I placed first in the entire district and was accepted into the elite magnet school. Before graduation, Ms. Peterson held my hand and told me to keep pushing. She only wanted me to succeed.

I promised her, tears streaming down my face.

Returning home afterward, I prepared myself for the inevitable storm. I knew my parents hadn't dared cause a scene at school; they were waiting for me.

The moment I stepped inside, a porcelain mug flew past my head, clipping my forehead. A thin line of blood immediately trickled down my temple.

You ungrateful wretch! You think you can just show up when you feel like it? Why didn't you just stay dead outside?

My mother looked noticeably haggard. Since I left, she had to take over all the chores.

She never considered how exhausting it was for me, a teenager, to handle all of it alone.

I casually wiped the blood away. Phoebe walked in from outside, a smug look of schadenfreude on her face.

My father, Arthur, sat on the sofa. He never physically hurt me, but his passive indifference was equally chilling. Miles was on his tablet, headphones on, as if the entire household existed merely to serve his entertainment.

I placed the acceptance letter from the magnet school on the coffee table.

Im going to school. I cant focus here.

Mom froze. She snatched the letter, read it closely, and her expression immediately shifted from thunderous rage to a triumphant smile.

I knew the truth: my parents, while prioritizing Miles, were slaves to social image. They neglected me not just because I was a girl, but because my grades made me worthless.

If I had tried to ask to board at school before, they would have said no. In their minds, my only value was as a household servant until I was old enough to be married off for a high dowry, which would then be used for Miles.

I had to succeed, to prove my value. Since I couldn't change my gender, I had to change my external worth.

Oh, my June is so smart! Did you really get this score?

I didn't react to their sudden joy or attention, just nodding numbly. I only wanted to survive; otherwise, I would have walked out and never looked back.

Arthurs perpetually grim face finally cracked a smile. He snatched the letter from Elaine, beaming.

They said my family wouldn't produce an academic star! Ill show them! My daughter is going to the best school in the state!

Miles's grades were pathetic, and Phoebes were unmentionable.

The atmosphere in the house changed instantly. Miles remained oblivious, but Phoebe's expression darkened to a storm cloud.

Elaine turned to Phoebe.

You finished your semester too, right? Where are your grades?