Miller." He called her a rising star. Reading the article on my phone felt like swallowing glass. It wasn't just a lie, it was a coordinated deception. Brittany had taken my wo

also mentioned that the critic was a preliminary judge for the National Youth Culinary Championship. If I caused a scene now, I' d be blacklisted. I had to swa

all "a sign of our special sisterly bond." This year, it just highlighted how invisible I was. The house was filled with balloons and a giant "Happy Birthday Br

f presents on the table, all for Brittany. "Mom?" I aske

d smile. "Of course, dear. Happy birthday. Look, I'm a little busy with Brittany's party p

oosing to forget me, to prioritize her step-daughter's happiness over my own

party food," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "Don't tell me you're still upset about that silly blog post. You sho

, showing off a delicate silver chain. Liam preened under her praise, giving her a loving look that made my stomach churn. They were a perfe

masochistic impulse. There it was: a photo of her, her new husband, Brittany, and Liam, all smiling around a massive birthday

a physical blow. It was a profound, gut-wrenching heartbreak. I wasn't just neglected, I was intentionally a