The True Heiress BFFs: On the Run

My best friend and I were both the long-lost, true-born daughters of wealthy families.
After we were found and returned to our rightful homes, we kept in touch, always painting a rosy picture for each other.
I told her I was the family jeweldoted on by my father, adored by my mother, and shadowed by my clingy older brother.
She told me she was the shining star, the absolute pride and joy of her parents.
That was until we met again.
I was a stick figure, ravaged by anorexia from stomach cancer, while my family insisted my diagnosis was a fabrication.
She was a beach ball, her depression fueling a binge-eating disorder, while her family called her a "fat pig" every single day.
After a long, heavy silence, we both spoke at the same time. "How about we drop the act and just run?"

1
The first thing I said to my best friend, Stella, when we reunited after three years was, "How the hell did you end up looking like this, too?"
One of us was a stick figure, the other a beach ball. It was a pathetic sight.
"I'm just a little curvy, that's all. A true beauty," Stella said, attempting a flirty hair flip.
But the loose flesh on her cheeks and the faint, dark patches on her skin betrayed her bravado. I'd also seen the bottles of antidepressants spilling out of her purse.
So, I teased her. "What, your parents don't love you? Can't win against the fake daughter?"
She blinked. "Whoa, are you a psychic?"
"Nope. My parents don't love me either, and I can't win against the fake daughter in my house."
Silence.
For three years, we'd been faking happiness for each other. Now, finally, all our cards were on the table.
Outside the coffee shop, the city lights began to glow. A massive flatbed truck drove by, carrying a brand-new, cherry-red Ferrari. The truck bed was decked out in shimmering lights, with a scrolling LED sign that read: "Happy 18th Birthday to our daughter, Jasmine!"
I sighed. "That girl is so lucky."
Stella just nodded. "Yeah. That's the fake daughter from my family."
I fell silent again.
A long moment passed before Stella and I spoke in unison: "How about we drop the act and just run?"
Our three-year charade was only to keep the other from worrying. But now, we both understood just how toxic our families were.
My stomach cancer was ignored; Stella's depression was dismissed. If we didn't run, were we just supposed to sit here and waste away?
"Okay, let's run!" Stella declared, her voice firm, without a shred of hesitation. But then her phone rang.
A woman's furious voice erupted from the speaker. "Stella, where the hell are you? It's your sister's 18th birthday party tonight, get your ass back here now!"
All of Stella's newfound confidence vanished. It was clear she'd been tormented for so long that her mother's voice triggered a primal fear.
"I'm I'm out for a run, trying to lose weight. I'll be back soon," she lied, her voice shaky.
Her mother's rage escalated. "Oh, so now you know you need to lose weight? Why don't you just drop dead? Look at your sister, so beautiful and perfect. And you? You're a disgusting fat pig. The sight of you makes me sick!"
Stella's fingers clenched, her lips pressed into a thin, white line.
"Get back here now! If you don't show up tonight, you can stay out for good!" her mother shrieked, treating her as less than human.
Stella's eyes instantly flooded with bloodshot rage. "For three years, you've held that over my head, threatening to kick me out. Fine. From now on, I'm not coming back!"
"What did you say? Fine! Good! Get out, and the farther the better!" Her mother slammed the phone down.
Stella put her phone away and wiped the corners of her eyes. Finding them dry, she let out a wry, liberating laugh. "Ha! I can't even cry anymore. Isn't that great?"
Yeah. It was great.
We were all out of tears.
It was time to run.

2
Our plan was simple: escape to the City.
It was far away and full of opportunitiesmainly for Stella. She dreamed of being a singer.
Ever since we were little, Stella loved to sing. She was the songbird of our small town. When she first returned to her family, she begged them to let her take voice lessons.
But the fake daughter, Jasmine, sabotaged her at every turn. She conspired with the music teacher to belittle Stella's talent, claiming her voice was weak and completely unsuited for singing. Instead, they pushed her into dance.
So Stella was forced onto the path of ballet.
She had zero interest in it. To make matters worse, Jasmine constantly bullied herslipping razor blades into her ballet slippers, telling the teachers Stella wasn't trying, and convincing them to teach her the wrong techniques.
Naturally, Stella failed to achieve anything. The crushing pressure sent her into a deep depression, and her only coping mechanism was binge eating.
She ballooned to over two hundred pounds.
"I have to be a singer," Stella said, her eyes burning with ambition. "When I get to the City, I'm going to climb my way to the top of the music world, step by step. I'll prove to my family that I'm so much better than Jasmine. I'm not a pig!"
I didn't say anything. I just handed her a business card. It was my only connection, a wealthy friend in the City who was also a music student. She could help Stella get started.
"Go find her. It's all I can do to help. I don't have any money," I said, frustrated. A supposed heiress, and I was broke.
Stella was penniless too, but she had a plan.
She started a video call with Jasmine.
When the call connected, Jasmine was a picture of perfection in a white dress, sitting amidst a mountain of presents, happily tearing them open.
"Oh, sister," Jasmine cooed, her voice dripping with fake concern as she unwrapped another box. "Mom said you weren't ever coming back. Did something happen?" Her lips were curled in a smug, mocking smile.
Stella shrugged. "I'll be back later. Blood is thicker than water, right? I am the real daughter of this family, after all. I have their blood in my veins. How could I not come home?"
The words were laced with sarcasm, a direct hit to Jasmine's biggest insecurity. She was a fraud.
Seeing the displeasure on Jasmine's face, Stella pressed on. "But, you know, I could stay away. Give me a million dollars, and I'll disappear. You'll never see me again."
Jasmine's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? I've offered you money to get lost plenty of times before, and you always refused."
"Believe it or not. If you don't, I'm coming home right now. And if I die, I'm dying in that house!" Stella hung up.
A moment later, a text came through from Jasmine: [The million is on its way. You'd better stay gone forever. If you come back, I have a hundred ways to make you suffer.]
"She's a real piece of work," I commented. "Just like the one in my house."

3
Stella got the money. Without wasting a second, she dragged me to the airport.
I checked her ID and her antidepressants, nagging her one last time. "Be safe in the City, okay? Don't let anyone scam you. Be smart with the money. You can do this!"
"I know, I know. Wait, what?" Stella turned to look at me. "You're not coming with me?"
Of course, I wanted to run. But I couldn't run that far.
I was in the final stages of stomach cancer. I didn't have much time left. I couldn't go with Stella and burden her with my body.
But I didn't tell her that.
I just smiled. "I am running, but I need to get some cash together first, you know? You go on ahead and wait for me. We don't want your parents changing their minds and coming after you."
The thought of that scared her. She stopped arguing.
As her figure disappeared through security, I bent over and coughed up a mouthful of blood.
My stomach burned.
I found a chair and collapsed into it, unable to keep up the strong front any longer. I took out a small mirror. My face was pale, my lips colorless. I was knocking on death's door.
It was a shame I couldn't run with Stella.
But at least she was free.
I clutched my abdomen, my head bowed, trying to catch my breath in a dizzy haze.
My phone buzzed. I forced myself to sit up and open my eyes.
It was my father.
I answered, and his deep, authoritative voice filled my ear. "Ivy, what is the meaning of this letter you left? You're cutting ties with us?"
I started to laugh. I'd decided to run long before meeting Stella. I'd already left the letter, severing my relationship with my parents and my brother.
From now on, my death was my own, and their lives were theirs. We would no longer be in each other's way.
"I'm a person. You're animals. Of course, we should sever ties."
I had nothing left to fear. I'd sent Stella on her way. What was there for a dying girl to be afraid of?
My father was furious, unable to believe I would say such a thing. Before he could yell at me, my mother snatched the phone.
"Ivy, what did you say? We're animals? Have you lost your mind? I think you're the animal, you cold-blooded creature! This family has done nothing but try to make you feel welcome. We've given you food, clothes, everything you could ever want! And this is the thanks we get? You call us animals?"
She was livid. Then, through the phone, I heard the fake sobs of my replacement, Chloe.
"Why can't we ever seem to win sister over? The pressure is killing me. I feel like such a monster Every time I see her emotionless face, I just feel so suffocated"
"My sweet girl, don't cry. It's not your fault. It's your sister's. She's just a cold-hearted animal!"

4
So, I was a cold-hearted animal.
Maybe I was.
Why was I so cold?
I started coughing up more blood, my mind wandering. Did my parents love me?
I suppose they did. In their own way.
From the moment they brought me home, they were constantly trying to show it. My room was identical to Chloe's. We had the same dolls, the same clothes filling our closets. Anything the fake daughter had, I, the real one, had too. They were so terrified of showing favoritism that they bought two of everything, letting me pick first.
It had been like that for three years.
But one thing was different.
When Chloe had a fever, my parents were frantic. They rushed her to the hospital themselves, constantly checking the time, urging the driver to go faster.
When I had a fever, they had the driver take me to the hospital. And that was it.
When Chloe wanted to go on vacation, my parents cleared their schedules. They packed bug spray, sunscreen, snacks they even brought her little teddy bear.
When I wanted to go on vacation, they had the housekeeper take me. And that was it.
When Chloe wanted a late-night snack, my parents would drag themselves out of bed and spend an hour making it for her by hand.
When I wanted a late-night snack, they told the maid to make it. And that was it.
On the surface, Chloe and I were treated equally. We both got better from our fevers. We both went on vacation. We both got our snacks.
But the process was different.
It had been like that for three years.
And so, my blood turned cold.
Like a snake sensing the coming winter, I knew I had to hibernate to survive.
When I was little, an old woman in my town told me that snakes hibernate, or else they'll freeze to death.
I asked her, "But don't their mommy and daddy snakes hold them to keep them warm?"
The old woman just laughed. "You don't have a mommy and daddy. Why are you thinking about that?"
She was right. I didn't have a mommy or a daddy. My adoptive parents died of illness shortly after buying me. I was raised by the whole town, eating scraps from a hundred different families.
When I turned sixteen, my birth parents came and took me home.
I thought I wouldn't have to eat scraps anymore. I thought when it was time for me to hibernate, I would finally have a mother and father to hold me.
But in the end, I was still hibernating alone.
Listening to the endless accusations and Chloe's fake sobs on the other end of the line, a sense of peace washed over me.
I had no one left, nothing holding me here. I was ready to hibernate for good.
So I said, "I'm dying soon. When I'm gone, I want you to take me back to my town and bury me in the bamboo grove on the hill. Thank you."

5
The other end of the line went silent.
Then came my father's cold command: "Ivy, what is this nonsense? If you want to die, go die somewhere else. I have no patience for this drama!"
My mother chimed in. "Ivy, I am so disappointed in you. Three years! We could have tamed a stray dog in three years, but you? You're still so cold, so heartless. You never once treated us like family, and now you're pulling this stunt"
She paused, as if remembering something, her tone hardening. "Stomach cancer, right? You've mentioned that a few times. Let me tell you something, stop trying to play these games. Your sister looked up your medical records. You don't have cancer!"
Oh, how kind of my dear sister, to go and check my medical records. But then, how could she have missed it?
A violent cough shook my body. The answer was clear.
My sister wanted me dead.
But it didn't matter. Death was coming anyway. I was in the final stage. It's not like I was going to ascend to godhood.
"I'm tired. I don't want to fight anymore. Just remember to bury my ashes in the bamboo grove."
I hung up and slumped back in my chair.
Hours later, an airport security guard woke me. He saw the bloodstains on my collar and jumped, offering to call an ambulance. I waved him off, telling him it was just paint.
With a collar full of "paint," I left the airport and found a spot to lie down under a highway overpass. At least it was summer. I wouldn't freeze.
After some sleep, I felt a bit better. I checked my remaining funds and decided to buy myself an urn. A person who never had a home in life should at least have one in death. An urn seemed like a nice home.
I searched for a while and finally found a decent funeral home. I carefully selected a plain white urn. It was about the size of a melon, big enough to hold my handful of ashes.
On my way back to the overpass, Stella messaged me. She was all settled in, had found an apartment, and was full of energy, ready to start losing weight and taking voice lessons.
[You go, girl. I'll be there soon.] I smiled as I typed, not realizing I'd wandered into the street.
A Lamborghini screeched to a halt, its bumper just inches from me.
I looked up. The car was familiar.
The door opened, and a man in a tailored suit got out, his face a storm cloud.
"Ivy, what the hell are you doing? If you're looking for a payout, find someone else to hit!"
It was my dear brother, Brandon.
I was always scared of him. He was so aggressive. The day I came home, I overheard him telling my parents, "Don't start ignoring Chloe just because your real daughter is back. Chloe is sensitive. She can't handle being upset."
To put Chloe at ease, he made a point of being cold to me. When I called him "brother," he'd just snort in response. I'd been afraid of him ever since. He was the only one in the family who didn't even pretend to like me.
But now, I was dying. I wasn't afraid of anything.
"Are you blind?" I snapped. "Learn how to drive!"
Brandon froze, staring at me in shock. "What did you say?"
"I said, are you blind? Learn how to drive," I repeated.
His shock turned to angry amusement. He strode toward me, then his eyes fell on the urn in my arms. A sneer twisted his lips. "What's with the urn? Getting your coffin ready?"
"Yes," I nodded simply. This was my coffin.
His anger seemed to evaporate, replaced by pure mockery. "Ivy, oh, Ivy. You're really committed to this act, aren't you? First, you insist you have cancer. We don't believe you, so now you're upping the drama?"
I didn't answer. I was too tired. Why did I have to deal with these idiots?
"What, cat got your tongue?" Brandon narrowed his eyes. He couldn't stand being ignored.
I squatted down, suddenly feeling even more exhausted. My body ached, my spirit was drained. Even holding the urn felt heavy.
"Ivy, my patience has a limit! It's been three years. I'm done trying to cater to your moods!" Brandon's rage finally exploded. He snatched the urn from my arms.
I scrambled to my feet. "Give it back!"
He held it high above his head, his face a mask of contempt. "What's that? Not so silent now?"
"What do you want from me? I'm dying. Please, just give it back," I panted, feeling blood begin to rise in my throat again.
"Hah! You lie without even blinking. Chloe already checked your medical records. You don't have cancer. Do you think we're stupid?" Brandon was like a predator with his teeth clamped on his prey's throat. "If you want to die so badly, go find a wall to run into! Stop pulling these pathetic stunts!"
With those words, he lifted the urn high and then slammed it onto the pavement!
With a loud crash, the white porcelain shattered into a hundred pieces.
All the strength left my body. I collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down my face.
Why was I crying? The urn wasn't expensive. I could buy another one.
But still, I cried.
Maybe it was just the pain. It was all just too much.

6
Brandon left without a second glance at my crumpled form on the sidewalk.
I just lay there, figuring I might as well wait for death to take me. But the sun was too hot, the pavement scorching. I forced myself up, wiped my tears, and staggered toward the shade of the overpass.
I only made it a few steps before my head spun and the world went black.
Great, I thought as I fell. My beautiful face is about to be cooked medium-rare.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My face was not, in fact, cooked.
The doctor told me a sanitation worker had found me and brought me in, even paid my admission fee before leaving without a name.
Life is a real piece of work, I thought. A total stranger could bring me to a hospital, pay for my care, and disappear without a word. And my own family? They insulted me, disbelieved me, and left me for dead.
I wanted so badly to run, but I was too sick. I couldn't go anywhere.
The doctor saw I was awake and told me to notify my family. My condition was severe. I didn't have long.
I asked him how much time I had left.
"If you're lucky, maybe two months. If you're unlucky, it could be a matter of days. But most people in your condition last about two months," the doctor said hesitantly, worried about my reaction.
I was indignant. "Wait, why do I have to live for two more months?"
"Huh?"
Don't "huh" me. I really didn't want to live for two more months. I wanted to die.
So I asked the doctor, "Could you maybe make my luck worse?"
"Huh?"

7
All the doctor could say was "huh." What a quack.
There was nothing I could do but lie there and wait to die. If I was unlucky, I'd have to wait two months. Or was it lucky? My head was so foggy I couldn't tell the difference anymore.
I checked my phone. Stella had sent a bunch of messages.
[Ivy, the City is amazing! It feels so good to be free, not walking on eggshells all the time!]
[Having money is awesome too! This million is going to last forever, haha!]
[I found a really famous vocal coach! She evaluated me and said my voice is incredible, that I have a lot of natural talent!]
[I started my diet! It's so easy to lose weight when you're not depressed!]

I smiled as I read.
That's my girl.
It felt like when we were kids, playing hide-and-seek in the bamboo grove. That same simple joy seemed to be returning.
[Ivy, when are you coming? I miss you,] she sent in a new message.
My smile faded. I put on a happy voice and sent her a voice message back.
[Soon, soon! Just have to take care of a few things. Don't worry!]
That seemed to satisfy her for now.
The following days were spent waiting to die in the hospital while cheering Stella on. She had conquered her depression and was making real progress with her weight loss. She often sent me videos of her singing. Her voice was beautiful. Even though she was still plus-sized, her talent shone through. She was our town's songbird, and she sang better than anyone.
About half a month later, my mother contacted me. She'd finally remembered I existed.
"Ivy, are you still sulking? When are you going to come home?" Her first words were an accusation.
I was confused. "Sulking about what?"
"Your brother told me he smashed your urn. You only bought it to upset us anyway, right? He did the right thing. What are you so angry about that you've stayed away for two weeks?" she continued to scold.
Oh, so that's what this was about. I thought for a moment, then spoke calmly. "I didn't buy it to upset you. I'm really dying. I was just worried my ashes wouldn't have a place to go, so I prepared one for myself."
"Shut up!" A furious shout came through the phone. It was my brother, Brandon. He'd snatched the phone. "What the hell is wrong with you? I was actually going to listen to Chloe today and try to convince you to come home, and here you are, spouting this 'I'm dying' nonsense again! Are you insane?"
"Brandon, stop yelling at her. Let me talk," Chloe's voice chimed in.
Brandon added one last furious threat. "Chloe's going to talk to you. You'd better listen. If you dare upset her, I'll kill you!"
"Sis, don't take it to heart. Brother's just in a bad mood today," Chloe said, now in full control of the phone.
I lay in bed, my eyes closed, a smirk on my lips.
Chloe continued, "Sis, please come home. We all really miss you."
"Go to hell," I said bluntly.
Chloe choked on her words, then her voice turned pitiful. "Sis, are you mad at me? I'm sorry. I know I haven't done enough these past few years. I know I'm the outsider"
"Since you know, why don't you get the hell out of my house?" I sneered.
She froze for a second, then her voice broke into a sob. "Okay I'm sorry. I'll leave"
"You should just die. I can buy you an urn too. Cash on delivery."
"IVY!" Brandon's roar exploded through the phone.
My parents had had enough, too. The line went dead.
I had to hand it to Chloe. She was a pro. She'd had the phone on speaker the whole time, making sure I dug my own grave with the family.
But who cared?
The only thing I cared about was when I would finally die.
Just then, the doctor walked in. I waved him over cheerfully. "Hey, Doc. I'll give you a tip. Can you make me die faster?"
"Huh?"

8
Still couldn't die. The suffering continued.
During that time, I wrote a letter for Stella. It was simple. I asked her to buy an urn for me and take my ashes back to the bamboo grove on the hill behind our old town. Our town had been destroyed by a flood, but that grove was resilient. It had grown back.
I gave the letter to the doctor and asked him to hold onto it, to only give it to Stella after I was gone.
This time, the doctor didn't say "huh." He took the letter with grave seriousness. He wasn't a quack after all.
Time flew by. The two-month mark was approaching. I didn't have much longer. I was slipping in and out of consciousness, rarely lucid. Stella couldn't reach me most of the time and knew something was wrong. Every chance she got, she'd ask when I was coming to the City. I could only keep putting her off.
The doctor was worried about me. "Kiddo," he said again, "you really should call your family. You're not going to make it."
My eyes lit up. "I'm finally dying?"
"Yes. It'll likely be today or tomorrow."
"That's wonderful!"
""
The doctor was speechless. He just urged me to call my family.
I nodded. A final burst of energy, a death rally, surged through me. I sat up and called Stella.
"Stella, let me see you. Send me a video. I haven't seen you in forever."
She hadn't sent a video in over a month, and I missed her.
She replied immediately. "What's the rush? I was planning a surprise for you."
"What surprise?"
She told me to guess.
I rolled my eyes. "Forget the surprise. I need to see you now. My big-dicked soul is thirsty!"
"Gross!" she texted back with a laugh, then sent a video of herself.
I opened it and saw a radiant, glowing Stella. My eyes went wide. She had lost so much weight. She was still curvy, but the lifeless, heavy energy was completely gone. The dark spots on her face had vanished. She was vibrant, her features sharp and beautiful. She looked amazing.
"You're incredible, babe. In my next life, I'm coming back as a man to love you fiercely!" I joked.
She called me disgusting, then started bragging. "I'm doing great. Losing weight and practicing singing every day. My cover songs are actually getting some attention online. A record label is talking to me about a contract."
Yes! The songbird of our town was finally about to fly.
"Ivy, when are you really coming?" Stella asked the old question again. I thought for a moment. "Come pick me up in two days."
"Pick you up? Okay, you got it. I'll be there!"
After hanging up, my final burst of energy fizzled out. My head lolled to the side, and I collapsed back onto the pillow. I was at my weakest.
But of course, someone wouldn't let me rest.
My mother sent me a voice message. She'd found out I was in the hospital.
"What do you think you're doing? Faking a hospital stay to get sympathy? Are you going to get your ass home or not?"
Some people are so strange. They hate you, but they still demand you come home.
I couldn't be bothered. I blocked her number.
Then she sent a text.
[Fine. Block me. We'll come drag you home ourselves! You're insane, making such a fuss over a stupid urn for this long. I'm having your brother bring you ten urns to apologize!]
She was about to explode.
I looked down at my own emaciated, skeletal body and shook my head. Ten wasn't necessary. Half of one would be more than enough to hold what was left of me.

9
When my parents arrived, I was curled up in a ball under the covers, coughing. The pain was so intense I hadn't slept in days. A strong wind was rattling the window, and I just wanted to hide, not even letting a single strand of hair show.
So when they stormed into my room, they didn't see me right away. They just saw a lump under the blanket.
"Ivy, get out here!" my father roared, kicking the foot of the bed. All his pent-up frustration was boiling over. Seeing me "hiding" was the last straw.
The bed frame groaned. The jolt made my head spin, leaving me even weaker.
"Ivy, are you deaf?" he yelled, kicking the bed again.
The impact sent a fresh wave of coughs wracking my body, filling my mouth with blood.
My mother snorted. "Stop faking it. I've had it. If three years wasn't enough to tame you, then you can just go back to your hick town today!"
She marched over and grabbed the edge of the blanket.
Just as a torrent of coughs threatened to tear my lungs apart, she ripped the covers off me. "Get up! Your brother is on his way with your stupid"
Her words died in her throat. She saw me.
The sudden rush of cold air triggered the most violent coughing fit yet. A spray of dark blood erupted from my mouth, splattering against the wall. My chest was already stained a deep, blackish-red.
"Ah!" My mother shrieked and fell backward, landing hard on the floor.
My father, his face a mask of rage just a second before, now stared in horror, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
I must have looked hideous. I didn't want anyone, especially the people I hated most, to see me like this. I fought through the pain, trying to pull the blanket back over myself.
"Ivy" my mother stammered, scrambling to her feet. Her face was ashen as she lunged forward, grabbing my hand. "Ivy what is this Ivy!"
I tried to pull away. Her touch felt disgusting. But I had no strength left. All I could do was curl up tighter, trying to hide my face.
"Ivy, what happened to you? It's Mommy" She was trembling all over, her voice lost. She turned and screamed, "Doctor! Doctor!"
Before the doctor could arrive, someone else did.
My brother Brandon and my sister Chloe walked in together. They were actually carrying urns, each holding a large bag stuffed full of them.
"Mom, Dad, where's Ivy? I'm here to apologize!" Brandon bellowed as he entered, his voice dripping with resentment.
Then he saw the blood-spattered bed and my shriveled form.
He froze. The bags of urns slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. He raised a hand to rub his eyes, his throat working, his body tensing up.
"Mom Dad is that is that sister?" Chloe asked timidly, her face a picture of fear, but her eyes gleaming with triumph.
No one answered her.
My mother was sobbing, chanting my name over and over. My father turned to run for a doctor and tripped, falling flat on his face and knocking out a tooth.
Brandon approached the bed with stiff, wooden steps. With every step, the color drained further from his face. By the time he reached my bedside, I was completely spent, unable to even curl up anymore. My wasted body was exposed for all to see.
"Ivy what this isn't possible. You're lying" Brandon's voice was like lead, each word a heavy weight.
I couldn't answer. I could only laugh.
Laugh at myself.
Why was my life so pathetic? Even my dying moments had to be a spectacle for everyone to witness.
"Ivy, answer me! You're faking this!" Seeing my silence, Brandon suddenly lost control, lunging forward and pulling me into his arms. "Hey, say something, Ivy!" His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking into a sob. "I I didn't know you really had cancer. Why didn't you just say so!"
Say so?
The day I was diagnosed, I told them.
No one believed me. Chloe even went to "check for me" and then declared I was lying. And they all believed her.
I begged for a little money to get treatment on my own. Still, no one listened.
Did they not have the money? Of course they did. They just stubbornly believed I was lying, that their beloved Chloe was telling the truth.
I tried to borrow money from everyone, even Stella.
Stella only sent me $389.20.
I knew instantly something was wrong with her. Why would she only be willing to lend me that much?
That's why I went to find her.
Two "true daughters," who had spent three years faking their happiness, finally faced the cruel reality.
We were both unloved.
And we were both no match for the imposters.
But at least Stella was free now.
And at least, I was about to be free, too.

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