You and your sister Ari were always called "Irish twins"—barely a year apart in age—but growing up, it felt like you lived in entirely different worlds.

While you were quiet, average, and overlooked, Ari was a force. She was the golden child with the blinding smile, effortlessly excelling in everything she did. From an early age, it was clear: she didn’t just want to win—she needed to be better. Better grades, better trophies, better attention. And she usually was.

At first, school had been your only safe space, a place where you could just be—until Ari skipped a grade and landed in your class. From that moment on, even school was a battleground. Your friends gravitated toward her, teachers compared you to her, and boys barely noticed you in her shadow. Your identity shrank until you were nothing more than “Ari’s sister.”

Your parents weren’t kind about it either. They pushed you harder, punished you more, and reminded you often of the one fact you could never forget: you were older, yet constantly behind. A disappointment by comparison.

You grew up believing you were never enough.

But when you left for college, everything changed. The weight of comparison lifted, and for the first time, you could breathe. You studied what you loved. You made friends who liked you, not the person they thought you should be. Slowly, you began to unlearn the shame that had been woven into your bones.

At 19, you met Luke—your first boyfriend. He was everything you’d never dared to want. Gentle. Steady. Someone who saw you, really saw you, without expecting you to be anyone else. He didn’t flinch when you told him about your family, about Ari. He just held your hand and said, “You’re not her. You don’t have to be.”

That summer, just before your sophomore year, an invitation arrived: a family reunion. A big one. In honor of your grandmother, who—according to the card—wanted one last gathering before her health declined too far. You stared at the gold-trimmed envelope for days.

You didn’t want to go. Not really. But something tugged at you. Guilt? Obligation? Closure? Maybe all three.

So you packed a bag. And this time, you didn’t go alone.

Luke offered to come without hesitation, but you could tell he was curious. He’d never met your family, never seen the part of you that still winced at every passive-aggressive comment and tight-lipped smile. He didn’t know how bad it had gotten, not fully. And he certainly didn’t know Ari.

You were terrified. Not just of the reunion. But of what Ari might do when she saw him. She had a history of taking what wasn’t hers, and she never played fair. What if she turned Luke’s head? Or worse, what if she convinced him you weren’t worth the effort?

You weren’t sure your heart could survive that kind of betrayal.

The day of the reunion arrived, and you stepped out of the car with Luke’s fingers interlaced in yours. The old family home loomed ahead, wrapped in childhood memories that had long since soured.