Evenings in Lina's home were filled with warmth. After dinner, her father told lighthearted stories while her mother and Lina folded clothes together. The laughter made the house feel safe.
"Your mom's cooking makes even a tired day bright," her father teased, and Lina giggled.
Sophia sat on the sofa, flipping pages of a magazine. To an outsider, she looked like part of the fun. But inside, she felt invisible. Each smile seemed meant only for Lina.
"Tell me, Lina," her father asked warmly, "what did you enjoy at school today?" Sophia's chest tightened. Why never me? Why always her? Later, in Lina's bedroom, Sophia leaned against the door with folded arms. "You love being their little angel, don't you?"
Lina set her pen down. "No, Sophia. I just… I just try to make them happy."
"You don't have to try," Sophia hissed. "They already worship you." Lina's heart sank. She wished they could be true sisters, but Sophia's words carried poison. Still, she whispered, "We're family. That should mean something."
Sophia turned away, her fake smile gone. "Family means nothing when you're always second."
Her jealousy grew deeper that night, though no one in the warm household could see it.