She finally slammed my notebook shut, stood up abruptly, her chest heaving violently—clearly furious beyond measure.
"Haven't I been good enough to you? Whenever you had trouble, I rushed over in the middle of the night to help. I know you're closer to her, but the difference in how you treat us is too obvious."
"Even with your own children, you treat them so differently. They're your own blood relatives!"
People feared comparisons, that was why my aunt was visibly upset.
She was truly heartbroken and never imagined that her wholehearted devotion would be met with such blatant favoritism.
I interjected calmly, "Auntie, you always say people are naturally biased. Why bother arguing with mom over it?"
My sister pulled me aside, urging me to stop talking. "Sylvia, what's gotten into you? Can't you just speak nicely?"
Why should I? If I was unhappy, no one else should be either.
I slammed the notebook onto her lap and argued, "Those who profit from others shouldn't lecture me. You all share the blame for turning me into this!"
My aunt staggered, unable to utter another word of reproach.
After all, the knife only cut the deepest when it pierced your own flesh.