"Your sister's room is tiny and my snoring is loud—I wouldn't want to disturb her rest. You have two rooms here and I can still cook for you."
I was genuinely happy she'd come to stay with me. After all, since then, she'd always favored Melody more, but this time she chose me.
Whatever the reason, my mother really did come to cook for me, just as she said. But everything she cooked was what Melody liked.
Of course, I bought all the ingredients.
Every time she finished cooking, she'd pick out the best bits first—just like today—and send them over to my sister.
Leaving me only the leftovers.
Two meals a day, never missing a single one, always on time. And what I ate were the leftovers.
Whenever I bought something nice, my mother would think to send some to Melody. Yet she never once thought to get me anything from my sister.
I could not say she did not love me—she occasionally washed my clothes and took care of me when I was sick.
But comparisons were the worst. Compared to the affection my sister received, the little affection I received felt utterly insignificant.
My mother always prioritized my sister first; only when there was love left over would she give it to me.