The Twin Who Chose Differently

Who do you want to live with? Your father or your mother? Mom asked me and my younger sister Lily on the day of the divorce.

In my past life, I chose Mom.

Dad was in a better financial situation, so following him would probably be easier for Lily.

Later, Mom married a wealthy American businessman and took me to immigrate to the United States.

Under my stepfather's guidance, I learned figure skating.

At eighteen, I became the first-ever American-Mexican female singles figure skating champion at the Olympics.

But in this life, Lily beat me to it and said, "I'll go with Mom."

"And what about you, Elena? Is your decision the same as hers?"

I looked into Mom's eyes.

"Then I'll go with Dad," I said.

The judge glanced at me again, probably thinking that this pair of twin sisters was unusually mature for their age, but didn't dwell on it and continued processing the paperwork.

Mom's expression dimmed.

She probably expected me to choose her.

After all, I did choose her in my past life.

She reached out and hugged me, then ran her hand through Lily's hair.

Lily obediently leaned into Mom's embrace, but her eyes moved past Mom's shoulder to look at me.

That one look contained too much.

It wasn't the look an eight-year-old girl should have.

It seemed Lily had also been reborn.

But why did she want to take it?

Whatever.

One chance each---that's fair enough.

In my past life, Mom married that American businessman, and my stepfather treated me like his own daughter.

I smoothly progressed in figure skating and became an Olympic champion at eighteen.

That script was certainly appealing.

I didn't want to suspect her with ill intent.

I understood her.

But something in my heart still felt a slight prick from that look.

The wind was strong outside the courthouse, though the rain had lightened.

Dad came over with an umbrella, bent down to look at me, and said, "Let's go."

His tone wasn't exactly gentle---somewhat stiff, even.

Dad had never been good at expressing emotions.

In my past life, he sent me birthday gifts every year.

The gift box always contained a card with just four words: "Happy Birthday."

Even the punctuation was perfectly proper.

I stood up and followed him into the rain.

When Dad started the car, I noticed his profile.

A bit younger than I remembered from my past life---no gray hair at his temples yet, his jawline tight, as if he were clenching his teeth.

It wasn't that he didn't love us.

He just didn't know how to show it.

In my past life, Lily told me that after the divorce, Dad became much more silent.

Later, when he married that woman, the atmosphere at home became even more tense.

Lily said "that house was like an ice cellar."

Eventually, even the ice cellar was gone, leaving only Dad alone.

As the car pulled out of the courthouse parking lot, I saw through the rearview mirror Mom and Lily standing at the entrance waiting for a taxi.

Mom held Lily's hand tightly.

Lily's face was small, rainwater plastering her bangs to her forehead.

She didn't look at me.

I didn't look at her again either.

Dad's new place was in New York.

We lived in a three-bedroom apartment near the city center---not large, but kept very clean.

My room faced south with good sunlight.

New stationery and a desk lamp had already been set up on the desk.

My grandmother had prepared them in advance, not Dad.

Dad probably wouldn't think of such details.

The first week after moving in passed very quietly.

Dad left early and came home late.

I went to my new school during the day, came home after school, did homework, read, and went to bed on time.

No one checked my homework.

No one asked if I had a good day at school.

The fridge was always stocked with pre-made dishes covered in plastic wrap---just heat them in the microwave and eat.

This must have been the environment Lily grew up in during my past life.

I suddenly understood a bit better why she became so sharp later on.

"Lily is different from you," my grandmother said once when she came to visit, sitting on the sofa peeling an orange.

"She takes after her mother---quick-tempered, easily ignited.

You take after your father---a closed book, keeping everything bottled up inside."

After my grandmother left, I sat alone in the living room for a while, thinking about one thing: when would Dad remarry?

According to what Lily said in my past life, Dad married that woman when she was ten years old.

Two years from now.

What was that woman's name again?

Lily mentioned it, but I didn't pay much attention.

In my past life, I maintained a distant attitude toward Dad's new family, after all, I had no contact with them.

I only remembered Lily's assessment of her: domineering, cold, extremely controlling.

Lily's exact words.

I mentally tagged this stepmother I'd never met, then felt it wasn't quite fair.

After all, in my past life Lily was quick-tempered---if they couldn't get along, it might not have been entirely the other person's fault.

Days passed one by one.

Having an eighteen-year-old soul in an eight-year-old body was a strange experience.

In any case, I didn't act like a student of this age.

Since I'd switched scripts in this life, I needed to figure out what I really wanted.

Figure skating.

I lay in bed.

In my past life, I started learning to skate when I was a bit over six years old.

By eight or nine, I was already in formal training at a club in the United States.

Now I was almost ten.

If I still wanted to pursue that path, I was already starting late.

And would Dad even send me to learn?

In my past life, my stepfather loved winter sports and discovered my talent on his own.

But Dad?

Dad didn't even have time to share a weekend meal with me.

Would he be willing to drive me to the rink every week, pay expensive tuition, and hire coaches for me?

I didn't know.

But I knew one thing: Lily would pursue that path.

Sure enough, a few months later, Mom's social media started showing photos of Lily at the ice rink.

The first one showed Lily standing on the ice in rental skates.

I stared at that photo for a long time.

Everything was identical to the post Mom had made in my memories from my past life.

The script hadn't changed---only the protagonist had switched.

I closed my phone and shut my eyes.

There was an indescribable feeling in my chest---not jealousy, more like looking in a mirror and seeing someone else's reflection.

Over the next few years, Mom's social media became my main channel for following Lily's activities.

She updated frequently, posting videos or photos of Lily's training every two or three days.

At ten, she started practicing double jumps.

That same year, Mom posted a very long update saying that Lily had been noticed by a famous figure skating coach---a former Olympic medalist who was willing to take Lily as a student.

The accompanying photo showed Lily with the coach, both standing at the edge of the rink.

Lily wore training clothes, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

I recognized that coach.

In my past life, he had been my coach too.

In that moment, my last shred of hope vanished.

Lily didn't just want to learn figure skating---she wanted to completely replicate the path I'd walked in my past life.

The same coach, the same club, the same training system, all pointing toward the same goal: Olympic gold.

She would succeed.

I thought.

And I needed to learn to say goodbye to my past life.

I needed to believe I had the ability to live in the present, not dwell on yesterday's regrets.

At ten, Lily won first place in the regional competition.

Mom posted a grid of nine photos, each one of Lily on the podium, holding the trophy, wearing the medal around her neck, smiling with bright eyes.

Dad happened to be home that day.

Seeing me with my phone, he casually asked, "What are you looking at?"

After Dad finished looking, he didn't say anything.

But after a while, I smelled the aroma of steak drifting from the kitchen.

It was my favorite dish.

That was just how Dad was.

He wouldn't say "Lily is amazing," nor would he say "if you want to learn something, I can send you too."

He would just silently cook a dish you loved, stewing all the words he couldn't speak into the meat.

I walked to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame, watching him.

"Dad," I said, "I don't envy Lily."

His hand paused while cutting scallions.

"I just think," I chose my words carefully, "she's doing well.

Really well."

Dad said "Mm" and continued cutting.

But I saw his shoulders relax slightly.

In the autumn of my tenth year, Dad brought home a woman.

It was a Saturday.

I sat on the living room sofa reading a book.

I heard the door lock turn but didn't look up, thinking Dad had come back from grocery shopping.

He occasionally cooked on weekends---surprisingly well, actually.

"This is my daughter." Dad's voice sounded tense.

I looked up.

The woman stood in the entryway wearing dark gray dress pants and a white blouse with a black trench coat over it.

Her hair was pulled back tightly without a single stray strand.

Her features weren't stunning, but the lines were sharp---high cheekbones, eyes slightly upturned at the corners.

Her whole presence was like a freshly sharpened blade.

Behind her stood a man who looked like a driver, carrying several gift boxes.

"Hello." She looked at me, her voice not loud but every word clear.

"I'm a friend of your father's.

My last name is Sullivan.

You can call me Ms. Sullivan."

Sullivan.

I suddenly remembered---in my past life, Lily mentioned that woman's surname was Sullivan.

She never said the first name, only referring to her as "that Sullivan woman."

This was her.

I closed my book, stood up, and smiled slightly.

"Hello, Ms. Sullivan."

Ms. Sullivan's gaze lingered on me for two seconds, then she nodded and said to Dad, "Your daughter has better manners than you."

Dad opened his mouth but couldn't get words out.

I smiled inwardly.

Dad in front of Ms. Sullivan was like a cat grabbed by the scruff of its neck---uncomfortable all over.

That day, Ms. Sullivan stayed for lunch.

She sat at the dining table with her spine perfectly straight, using her fork with extreme precision, only her fingers moving when cutting, her wrist motionless.

Dad had made steak.

She ate two pieces, then set down her fork and seriously commented, "Very delicious."

Dad's expression showed a mixture of relief and happiness... it was complicated.

I couldn't help wanting to laugh but held it in, lowering my head to eat.

Ms. Sullivan turned to look at me.

"Who helps you with your homework normally?"

"I do it myself," I said.

"What are your test scores?"

"First in the class for math and science, third for English."

She raised an eyebrow, seemingly a bit surprised.

Then she glanced at Dad with a look that clearly said: Your luck is pretty good.

Dad still couldn't get words out.

After that day, Ms. Sullivan came to the house more and more frequently.

At first, she came for weekend meals, then it became three or four times a week.

Eventually, her toothbrush appeared in the bathroom cup, her slippers in the shoe cabinet.

Dad never formally discussed this with me.

He probably didn't know how to bring it up.

In the end, Ms. Sullivan said it herself.

That day she came carrying a document folder.

She sat across from me and pushed the folder to the middle of the table.

"Take a look?"

I opened it.

Inside was a copy of a property deed with her name on it, bank statements, and a printed A4 sheet with text in a standard font: Victoria Sullivan, female, forty-four years old, unmarried, no children, works in government.

"The basic situation is all here," Ms. Sullivan's tone was like giving a work report.

"I'm together with your father.

If you don't agree, we'll treat this as if I never brought it up."

I looked at those documents and suddenly felt like laughing.

But I knew that in my past life, Lily hadn't agreed.

According to her, she made a huge scene---throwing things, going on a hunger strike, crying in front of Dad for a whole week.

Later, Dad and Ms. Sullivan got married anyway, but Lily never accepted her.

The two fought openly and secretly for years until Ms. Sullivan and Dad eventually divorced.

I actually thought it was fine.

Dad had become visibly happier.

As long as he was happy, that was good.

"Of course I agree," I said, pushing the folder back and looking into Ms. Sullivan's eyes.

"As long as you two are good together."

Ms. Sullivan paused.

Just for a moment, but I caught it.

On her perpetually poker face, something extremely faint---something like softness---flickered across.

"Mm," she said, taking back the folder and standing up.

"I'm going out to buy groceries.

We'll have fish tonight."

I thought I saw her blush.

As she changed shoes at the door, I heard her say quietly, "This child is much better than her father."

I pretended not to hear.

The wedding was simple---no big production, just getting the marriage certificate at the courthouse and having dinner with both families.

A few relatives from Ms. Sullivan's side came, all people who didn't talk much but had powerful presences.

They dressed simply but carried an indescribable elegance in their movements.

Among them was a boy who looked slightly older than me, maybe fourteen or fifteen.