I grew up with two older sisters, Kira and Alexa. I spent my childhood watching them and how our mother treated them.

She loved them openly, bought them expensive clothes, gave them new toys, and took them out for ice cream on warm summer days.

She brushed their hair, kissed their foreheads, and told them how much she adored them.

Meanwhile, I got their worn-out clothes, their old toys, and their leftovers. I didn’t get bedtime stories or hugs.

Instead, I got orders. “Olivia, clean the kitchen.” “Olivia, fold the laundry.” “Olivia, stop standing around and do something useful.” I was a servant in my own home, and nobody seemed to care.

My father tried to protect me. I remember the times he pulled me into a hug when my mother’s words cut too deep.

He used to tell me I was special. That I mattered. But as I grew older, he did that less and less.

His voice lost its strength, and his kindness faded into silence. Then, the arguments started.

“I’m telling you, she’s your daughter!” my mother screamed.

“How can she be mine?! We are both brunettes, and she’s a blonde with blue eyes!” my father shouted back.

“That happens! Maybe someone in the family had lighter features!” my mother insisted.

“Then let’s do a paternity test!” my father yelled.

The fights became a routine. And they always ended the same way—my mother cried, accused my father of hating her, and he backed down. But I never forgot those words.

By fourteen, I couldn’t stand being home. I got a job, not just for money, but to escape.

With my first paycheck, I bought a DNA test. And when the results came, everything fell apart.

One evening, I stepped through the door and saw my father standing in the living room.

He held an envelope in his hand, his eyes locked on my name printed across the front.

“What is this?” he asked. His voice was sharp. “Why is this letter addressed to you?”

My stomach dropped. I took a step forward. “Give it back,” I said, reaching for it.

He pulled it away. “Explain first,” he said. His grip tightened on the paper.

I hesitated. My hands trembled. “It’s… a DNA test.” My voice barely came out.