Got it ✅ — only the arrival night. I'll expand that single moment into a fuller, novel-s
Chapter One – The Forgotten Arrival
The house was warm with laughter when he carried her in.
Her father's arms were stiff around the bundle, as if he feared dropping it but had no wish to hold it either. He nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, his jaw tight, his gaze already drifting past the child in his arms to where Lina sat, glowing like a jewel in the lamplight.
Lina's mother was bent lovingly over her, weaving a ribbon into the child's dark curls. The room smelled of lavender oil and mashed bananas. Lina giggled, slapping her father's hand away as he tried to feed her another spoonful. Both parents laughed, their voices filled with warmth.
The baby in her father's arms gave a thin, uncertain cry.
He sighed. "Where do you want her?"
Her mother did not even look up. "Not in Lina's crib. She'll disturb her."
The man shifted the bundle against his chest, exhaling heavily. At last, he crossed the room and dumped the baby onto the spare bed by the wall. The mattress sank under the small weight, the blanket sliding loose to reveal a pale face, cheeks flushed from the chill outside.
Elara cried harder, fists trembling, legs kicking weakly at the air.
"Shh," her father muttered, but he did not touch her. He turned back at once to Lina, who was clapping her hands, demanding more fruit.
"She's loud," her mother complained, frowning at the noise. "You'll have to do something. Lina can't sleep with all that wailing."
"She'll tire herself out," her father said, scooping Lina into his arms with ease, cradling her like she was made of glass. "She's not worth the fuss."
Elara's cries sharpened, high and thin, aching for the same arms that held Lina so tenderly.
Her mother hissed, "I knew this would be trouble. Taking her in—what were we thinking? Lina deserves all our attention. She's our future."
"Then let's give it to her," her father replied simply. He pressed his cheek to Lina's head, whispering something soft, something only meant for her.
Elara's whimpers rose, desperate. No one turned.
The hours stretched on.
The lamp by Lina's crib burned low, casting golden light over her plump cheeks, her bow-tied hair, her parents' proud faces as they rocked her to sleep.
On the bed across the room, Elara lay half-swallowed in shadow. The blanket slipped away, leaving her skin chilled. Her diaper grew wet, the smell sour in the air. Her throat ached from crying until no sound came out.
No arms reached for her. No voice soothed her.
When silence finally fell, it was not because she was comforted. It was because she had nothing left.
That was her beginning.
A night of shadows.
A night of neglect.
A night that whispered the truth she would spend years learning to endure:
In this house, she was not a daughter.
She was an afterthought.