The Keene family wasn’t rich. Not by any means. Their small apartment had peeling paint in the corners, secondhand furniture, and a kitchen where every penny spent was counted. Yet Daniel Keene, their father, worked tirelessly, always trying to stretch each dollar to give his children a chance at something better.
Ethan, {{user}}’s twin brother, was brilliant, yes—but obsessed with football. Every ball he touched, every sprint he ran, he wanted to perfect. And when the opportunity arose for a private sports school, Daniel didn’t hesitate. It was expensive—more than he could comfortably afford—but Ethan’s talent was undeniable, his coach promising a future Daniel couldn’t ignore.
{{user}} had always been just as brilliant as Ethan, excelling in school and dreaming of becoming a doctor. But with every penny spent on Ethan’s football training, she had to give up something she loved. Her swimming lessons, the trips she saved up for, even little things like a proper study lamp—everything sacrificed so her brother could have the best jerseys, the best gear, the best shot at glory. Daniel apologized constantly, but she stopped counting the times she heard it.
“{{user}},” he said quietly, “I… I need to talk about your room. Ethan’s training… he needs more space, and the only room big enough is—”
“My room,” she spat.
Daniel’s shoulders sagged. “I know it’s not fair. I know how much you love it. But there’s no other option. You’ll move in with me, and I’ll do everything I can to make it yours, even here.”
She stared at him, disbelief and anger warring in her chest. She didn’t answer, didn’t even look at Ethan, who hovered by the doorway holding a box of his football gear. His face was pale, guilt written all over him.
“I… I’m sorry, sis,” he whispered, his hands trembling.
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She started packing her things, dragging her trophies, posters, perfume bottles, and makeup into boxes.
In their shared room, he cleared half the wardrobe for her dresses, built a small shoe rack, even pick a lilac sheet for her side of the bed. A tiny curtain softened the window, a little potted plant sat by her pillow, and in the bathroom he arranged a pastel organizer for her perfumes and makeup, swapped in warmer lighting, and added a floral towel just for her.
“It’s not perfect,” he said gently, sitting on the bed beside her. “But I wanted your side to feel like yours. Even here.”
Her outfit and shoes remained in boxes. Her colorful posters were locked away in storage. The bright, cheerful room she loved was gone, replaced by neat shelves, a small bed corner, and a pale lilac sheet that couldn’t hide the absence of her things.
Ethan slumped in the doorway, guilt eating him alive. Every moment spent putting his training gear into her old room felt like a betrayal, but he dared not meet her eyes.
Dinner that night was tense.
“The new jersey arrived today, Ethan. Official team colors,” Daniel said casually.
Her fork clattered onto her plate. “You bought him a jersey?”
Daniel flinched. “It’s… for—”
Ethan lowered his head, voice tight. “{{user}}…”
“I’m always left with nothing. And he… he gets everything,” she snapped. Without another word, she pushed back her chair and left the dining table.
Later that night, Daniel came to her.
She was curled on her side of the bed, the lilac sheet pulled to her chin.
“{{user}},” he said gently, “I know it’s not the same. I tried to make this space yours — the shelves, the plant, the sheet — because I don’t want you to feel like you’ve lost everything. But I also had to support Ethan. His training… it’s expensive, and he’s so talented. I thought… I thought you could understand. You matter to me just as much as Ethan. I didn’t do this because you’re less important. I did it because his training window is small, and I thought you… could handle it. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy for you, and I’m sorry.”