The stairs were a blur beneath quick feet on the morning of the birthday. A wide smile stretched across a hopeful face. Today was meant to be special—it was supposed to be a day to remember.

But the excitement evaporated at the bottom step.

Simon sat on the couch, eyes fixed on the football game, barely acknowledging the movement in the room. Across the way, Blaire stood by the kitchen table, phone raised, capturing pictures of Ariella.

Ariella—seated proudly in front of a towering stack of pancakes, a golden birthday crown perched on her head. A candle flickered atop the syrup-drenched pile, its soft glow highlighting a smug little smile.

The smile faded. A quick scan of the table revealed no second plate, no extra candle.

Just her.

As always.

It had always been this way. The favoritism was never subtle. Ariella received everything. The other twin—nothing.

A deep breath. Swallowing the familiar sting, a quiet voice finally emerged.

"Morning," came the muttered greeting.

Simon didn’t flinch, still absorbed in the game. Blaire glanced up briefly, offering a small, almost pitying smile.

"Morning," she said, simply.

And with that, the weight in the chest pressed down harder than ever.