Charlotte, however, had always treated our home more like a pitstop. I could never remember her sticking around, except when it was convenient for her. Whether it was parties, her friends, or some vague ambition she often spoke about, Charlotte was always chasing the next big thing. "I'm going to be great, Dawn," she’d say. "I’m meant for something bigger. Not this small life, where no one knows my name. Maybe one day, you'll understand."
But I never did. And as the years passed, I came to realize that Charlotte had never seen me as her sister. I was just an inconvenience in her otherwise glamorous life, a tagalong, a shadow. She never read me bedtime stories, never spent time with me, never treated me like family. The rare occasions when Dad took us out for ice cream, she barely lifted her eyes from her phone, always distant, always detached.
