The Double Standard Wish List

My mom made a rule to stop us twins from fighting over gifts.
Every year, Zoe and I would take turns making a “big wish.” Odd years were mine, even years were hers.
The first even year, she used all her savings to send Zoe to a Disney summer camp.
When my first odd year came, all I wanted was a laptop for school. But my mom said money was tight, and promised she’d make it up to me the next year.
The next year, she bought Zoe the newest iPhone.
The year after that, when it was my turn again, she said Zoe needed expensive tutoring…
My wishes were “postponed” indefinitely.
Until my eighteenth birthday. I made a wish over my cake, hoping for my very own first phone.
After I blew out the candles, my mother handed me a beautifully wrapped box. I opened it, my hands trembling with excitement.
Inside was my sister’s old, discarded phone, its screen a spiderweb of cracks.
She smiled and said, “Zoe felt so bad for you, she insisted you have the phone she just replaced. Even the charger is brand new!”

1
My eighteenth birthday party was a lively affair, filled with relatives and noise.
My mom brought out the cake and told me to make a wish.
I closed my eyes, my mind fixed on a single thought: a phone of my own.
After the candles were out, Mom produced a beautifully wrapped box from behind her back and handed it to me with a smile.
My hands were shaking.
In all these years, this was the first time she had ever gotten me a gift on one of my odd years.
I tore open the box. Inside was an old phone, the screen fractured with a half-dozen cracks, like a shattered web.
“Zoe felt so bad for you,” my mom said, her voice bright. “She insisted you have the phone she just replaced. Even the charger is brand new! Now, what do you say to your sister?”
I said nothing.
I looked up and saw Zoe across the room, happily snapping pictures of everyone with her brand-new iPhone, a wide smile on her face.
All eyes were on me.
I held up the broken phone, my gaze locked on my mother.
“Mom, is this what you meant by ‘my turn’?”
“Is this the fairness you promised for eighteen years? One for me, one for her?”
A murmur rippled through our relatives.
I didn’t care about them. Tonight, I was going to make things clear.
“When I was fourteen, it was my turn. I needed a laptop for a major competition. You said money was tight and promised you’d get it for me the next year.”
“I had no choice. I had to camp out in the school library every single night, using their public computers until they kicked me out. In the end, my project was downgraded, and I missed out on a state scholarship.”
“When I was sixteen, it was my turn again. My eyesight was getting worse, I couldn’t see the board in class, and all I wanted was a new pair of glasses. You told me to wait, that the money had to be spent on more important things.”
“I wore those old glasses for two whole years, suffering from blinding headaches every single day. I couldn’t focus in class at all.”
I pointed a trembling finger at my sister.
“But during those same years, you sent Zoe to a Disney summer camp for half a month.”
“You hired her a private art tutor who’d studied abroad—a single one of her lessons cost more than a new pair of glasses for me.”
“You even bought her a purebred Corgi, saying a girl shouldn’t be lonely without a pet.”
“Every one of my wishes was for my education, to help me see clearly. Every one of hers was for fun. And now you’re telling me this is fair?”
The color drained from my mother’s face.
She reached for my hand, but I snatched it away.
“How can you be so ungrateful!” she exclaimed, her voice rising. “When have I ever shown favoritism?”
“Your sister gave you something she loves, and you’re still not happy? This is about sisterly love, Chloe, why can’t you understand that?”
“We only have so much money! Of course it has to be spent where it counts! Zoe’s tutoring is expensive, and she needs to socialize with her friends. All of that costs money! You’re just a student, what do you need such nice things for anyway?”
I looked at her as if she were a stranger.
“So only Zoe’s needs are what ‘counts’?”
I kept pushing, my voice growing louder with every question.
My mother’s face burned with humiliation under the curious stares of our relatives.
Finally, she broke.
“Enough!” she shrieked. “You think I didn’t want to buy you things?”
“I never saved that money for your laptop! The minute Zoe mentioned at the dinner table that she saw people riding horses on TV and thought it looked cool, I signed her up for equestrian lessons!”
“It was over a hundred dollars a lesson! That money was gone in a flash!”
She glared at me, her eyes red and furious, the truth finally spilling out in a torrent of resentment.
“‘I’ll make it up to you next year’—it was all a lie! Where was I supposed to get that kind of money? With two kids, I could only afford to focus on one of you! What else was I supposed to do?”

2
After that disastrous birthday party, a heavy silence fell over the house for days.
The moment I got home from school, I’d lock myself in my room.
I remembered when we were little, even choosing where to go on weekends was supposed to be a rotation.
Odd weeks were my choice, even weeks were Zoe’s.
But whenever it was my turn and I’d say I wanted to go to the science museum, my mom would claim the forecast called for rain.
If I suggested the library, she’d say it was too stuffy and that children needed open spaces.
Then she’d turn to my sister. “Zoe, didn’t you want to go to the amusement park again?”
Zoe would nod enthusiastically.
And Mom would pat my shoulder. “You’re the older sister by a few minutes, Chloe. You have to be the sensible one and let her have her way. Look how much she wants to go.”
And just like that, my odd weeks became Zoe’s even weeks, time and time again.
“Sensible.” That word was a leash she’d kept around my neck my whole life.
A few days later, my mom knocked on my door.
She was holding a shoebox containing the limited-edition sneakers I’d been dreaming of for months.
She pushed the box into my hands, a placating smile on her face.
“Mom knows she was wrong. Don’t be angry anymore. Look, I bought you the shoes you wanted for so long.”
A part of me softened.
I opened the box. The sneakers were beautiful, exactly like the ones I wanted.
I tried them on. They fit perfectly.
My mom watched me, a look of relief washing over her. “Happy now?”
I didn’t answer, but the anger inside me had begun to subside.
That weekend, we had a family dinner with all the relatives.
Zoe and I both wore our new sneakers.
An aunt noticed. “Oh, look at you two! Matching shoes, how lovely! Those are hard to get ahold of these days, aren’t they?”
My mom instantly perked up, her voice booming with pride.
“You have no idea! I had to pull strings with several friends just to get my hands on them. They were incredibly expensive!”
She shot me a pointed look, making sure to lecture me in front of everyone.
“You hear that, Chloe? Your mother thinks of you. This time, it was your turn, and I came through. You need to learn not to be so petty, don’t make a fuss with me over every little thing.”
My hand, reaching for a piece of food, froze mid-air.
I looked down at the sneakers on my feet, then over at Zoe’s.
On Zoe’s pair, the logo’s edges were perfectly crisp, and the leather had a distinct sheen.
Mine, after only a few days of wear, already had a faint crease forming at the toe. Something was wrong.
A fire ignited in my gut, roaring all the way to my head.
I put down my chopsticks and stood up.
Everyone stared at me.
Without a word, I bent down and pulled the fake sneaker off my foot.
Then I walked over to Zoe. She flinched, trying to shrink away from me.
I pointed at her feet. “Take it off.”
My mother’s face went white. “What are you doing now? Are you trying to bully your sister in front of everyone?”
I ignored her and repeated to Zoe, “Take it off.”
Zoe was frozen, so I did it myself, yanking the authentic sneaker right off her foot.
I carried the two shoes—one real, one fake—back to the dining table.
I placed them side-by-side in the center for all to see.
“Everyone, take a good look,” I said, my eyes fixed on my mother. “You said you pulled strings with friends? Tell me, which friend sold you this one? Look at the stitching, the glue. Now look at Zoe’s. Do you take everyone here for a fool?”
The table fell silent.
The relatives craned their necks to get a better view. The difference between the real and the counterfeit was glaringly obvious.
My mother stared at me for a few seconds before her face crumpled and she burst into tears.
She didn't mention the shoes. Instead, she pointed an accusing finger at me, her voice choked with sobs.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You just had to humiliate me in front of the whole family!”
“After everything I’ve done to raise you, you make a scene over something so trivial! All my hard work, completely wasted!”
She cried as if she were the one who had been deeply wronged.
“They look better on your sister anyway! Her feet are smaller, the style suits her. Your feet are so big, even the real ones wouldn't look as good on you!”
“I ran all over town to find a decent copy for you! Do you think fakes are free? I was thinking of you, trying to make sure you had a pair too, and this is how you repay me? You turn around and bite the hand that feeds you!”
She turned to our relatives, her voice thick with anguish. “Tell me, what did I do wrong? I gave them both something, what more does she want? She’s always been like this, ever since she was a little girl. She can’t stand to see her sister have anything nice!”
Her gaze snapped back to me, her voice rising to a shriek as she pointed at the shoes on the table.
“Besides, they’re just shoes! You wear them on your feet, not on your head! Who’s going to get down on their knees and check if they’re real or fake? You have something to wear, and that should be enough! Why are you so obsessed with the details?”

3
My uncle, who had been examining the shoes, cleared his throat. “Alright now, let’s talk this out calmly. This is no way to treat your mother.”
Another relative chimed in, “Exactly. Your mother has sacrificed so much for you. Don’t break her heart like this.”
No one mentioned the shoes anymore.
Suddenly, I was the one in the wrong.
I didn’t say another word.
That night, I went back to my room and started packing my things into a suitcase.
My high school offered dorms, and I had applied long ago, but my mother had always forbidden it.
Now, I was done listening to her.
I left in the middle of the night with just a few changes of clothes and my textbooks. The dorm supervisor took pity on me and set me up in an empty storage closet with nothing but a bare bed frame.
I huddled under my own jacket, unable to sleep a wink.
At dawn, my phone rang.
It was my dad.
It was the first time he had called me since the birthday party.
It was noisy on his end; it sounded like he was playing cards.
“I heard you’ve been causing trouble at home again,” he said without any preamble. “Go home and apologize to your mother. You hear me?”
“She gave me fake shoes, and you want me to apologize?” I asked.
He was impatient. “It’s a pair of shoes, for God’s sake. Is it worth all this drama? You’re going to make your mother sick. I’m telling you, go home right now, or you won’t get another cent from me.”
He hung up.
I checked my bank app. Available balance: $7.35.
I went downstairs and bought two plain buns for a dollar.
That was my food for the day.
A few days later, one of my mom’s closest friends, a Mrs. Davis, came to find me at school.
She held my hand and went on and on about how difficult my mother’s life was, raising two children all by herself.
She was carrying a thermos. “Your mother’s blood pressure is acting up. She’s stuck in bed, but she was worried you weren’t eating, so she had me bring you some soup.”
She opened it, and the smell of a pork rib soup I hated filled the air.
“Your mother still loves you, Chloe. She’s just proud. If you give her a way out of this, it’ll all blow over.”
I looked at her. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go home. On one condition.”
A smile bloomed on Mrs. Davis’s face. “Tell me. I’ll help you talk to your mom.”
“When I was fourteen, my mother owed me a laptop. If she buys me one now, I’ll go back. I’m not picky about the brand, as long as it works.”
The smile vanished from Mrs. Davis’s face.
“How can you be so selfish! Your mother is sick, and you’re trying to blackmail her with this? She doesn’t have that kind of spare cash! Are you trying to put her in the hospital?”
I didn’t go home.
Instead, I wrote everything down.
From the laptop at fourteen to the glasses at sixteen, and finally, the broken phone at eighteen.
Next to my list, I detailed Zoe’s Disney summer camp, her international art classes, and her brand-new iPhone.
Shortly after I posted it online, Zoe called me, sobbing.
“Chloe, why would you post that? Everyone at school has seen it, they’re all asking me about it! How could you humiliate us like this?”
“How about we trade?” I asked.
She went silent.
“You can have this cracked phone, and I’ll go to Disney next time. You can live in a storage closet and eat stale bread while you wait for a laptop that will never come, and I’ll use your iPhone. Do we have a deal?”
She didn’t say another word. After a moment, she hung up.
The post started getting a lot of attention.
That evening, I got a call from an unknown number. It was my aunt Carol, my dad’s sister. She was a successful businesswoman in another city, and we hadn’t seen each other in years.
She didn’t waste time with small talk. “Are your things packed?”
I was confused. “What?”
“I’ve booked you a seat on the first train out tomorrow morning. I got your ID number from your father. I’m texting you my address. You’re coming to live with me. I’ll help you figure things out with your school once you get here.”

4
The day after I arrived at my aunt’s house, she took me shopping.
She bought me a brand-new, top-of-the-line laptop, a new phone, and several new outfits.
My hands trembled as I held the laptop.
Aunt Carol patted my back. “This is what you should have had all along. From now on, if you need anything, you tell me.”
For the first time in my life, I had my own room, a big desk, and a balcony that got plenty of sunlight.
I set up the new computer, turned it on, and logged into the website for the coding camp I’d always dreamed of attending.
My mom had always said it was too expensive and useless for a girl.
Aunt Carol transferred me the money on the spot. “If you want to learn, then learn. It’s always good for a girl to have skills of her own.”
A few days later, Zoe messaged me.
It was the first time she had ever reached out to me. She asked if I was settling in okay, if Aunt Carol was being good to me.
After a few pleasantries, she got to the point.
“Hey, so I’m getting ready for this big national youth painting competition. It would be a huge boost for my college applications.”
I didn’t reply.
She sent another message. “I heard Aunt Carol works in publishing and knows a lot of the judges. I was wondering… could you put in a good word for me? Just tell her I’m really talented and ask if she could recommend me.”
I stared at the words and almost laughed.
So now that she needed something, I was her sister again.
I typed back a simple reply: “Can’t help you.”
She immediately sent a voice message, her tone frantic. “Why not, Chloe? We’re sisters, you’re supposed to help me! This is really important!”
I typed my response.
“Aunt Carol just paid for a very expensive coding camp for me. I don’t want to bother her for anything else.”
I paused, then added one more line.
“It’s the same camp I needed the laptop for back then, to work on my competition project. The one Mom said we couldn’t afford. Remember?”
“By the way, how much is the entry fee for your competition? If you’re short on cash, you could always sell that Louis Vuitton bag of yours. That should cover it.”
A few days later, I was in my room reviewing materials for the camp when the doorbell rang.
Aunt Carol went to answer it.
I heard my mother’s loud voice booming from downstairs. “I’m here to see my daughter! A mother misses her child, is there something wrong with that?”
Aunt Carol didn’t let them in.
“I’m sorry,” she said calmly, “but she’s doing very well here. She needs to study right now and can’t have visitors.”
My mother’s voice got even louder. “Visitors? I’m her mother! What do you mean you’re hiding her from me? Are you trying to turn my own daughter against me?”
I walked to the window and looked down.
Seeing that she wasn’t getting in, my mother plopped herself down on the edge of a planter in the complex courtyard. Zoe stood beside her, looking mortified.
Then, my mother started slapping her knees and wailing.
“What have I done to deserve this! I worked my fingers to the bone to raise that girl, and the moment she grows wings, she disowns me!”
Neighbors started coming out to see what the commotion was about.
My mother’s cries grew louder as she played to the audience.
“My younger daughter, she’s a gifted artist! She has a huge competition coming up, and all she wanted was for her sister to put in a good word with a relative. But her? She won’t even help! She just throws us out!”
She pointed up at my window.
“She’s moved up in the world now, you see! She’s too good for us! But her sister is a genius, and she is obligated to help her! It’s her duty as an older sister! If she refuses, she’ll be ruining her sister’s life! What kind of monster does that to her own flesh and blood?”
Zoe tugged at her arm, begging her to stop.
My mom shoved her away. “Leave me alone! I want everyone to hear this! I’m a mother, and I have to treat my children equally! She must help you!”
I stood behind the curtain, watching the circus unfold below.
My mother was putting on a show, wiping at her dry eyes with her sleeve, but her gaze kept darting toward my aunt’s front door.
She was watching for a reaction.
She wasn’t here for Zoe’s competition.
She was terrified that with Aunt Carol as my new supporter, I was no longer under her control.
She was here to drag me back into her drama.
Aunt Carol came upstairs and stood beside me. “Do you want me to go down there and make them leave?”
I shook my head, my eyes still on the wailing woman below.
“No,” I said.
“Let her make a scene.”

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