I ended up parking at a lookout overlooking Valmont. The city glittered below, lights twinkling like fallen stars, indifferent to my misery.
I turned off the engine. The rain drummed on the roof of the car, a hypnotic rhythm that should have been comforting, but only made my chest tighten.
Sofia.
Always Sofia.
I closed my eyes, and the memories came flooding back.
________________________________________
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
I was eleven when my mother died.
Breast cancer, aggressive, merciless. Six months from diagnosis to death. Six months watching the strongest woman I knew wither away until she was a shadow of her former self.
And in the midst of it all, Dad met Monica.
No, that was a lie. He already knew Monica. She was recently widowed—her husband had died in a car accident—and ran in the same social circle. She was always at events, always impeccable, always with a friendly smile and an angelic daughter by her side.
Sofia was nine years old then. Blonde, big eyes, the perfect picture of innocence. People always commented on how beautiful she was, how she looked like a porcelain doll.
Mom didn't like Mônica. I remember overhearing her talking to my aunt Beatriz months before she died:
"That woman is like a snake. She smiles, but her eyes are cold. And the way she looks at Augusto..."
"Isabella, you're being paranoid. The woman just lost her husband..."
"Exactly. And she's already looking at the next one."
At the time, I didn't understand. I was just a child, dealing with my mother's impending death. I didn't pay attention to Mônica or her intentions.
I should have.
Mom died on a Tuesday in March. Gray skies, cold rain, everything was absolutely miserable. At the funeral, Mônica was there. Of course she was. Elegant black dress, discreet tears, comforting hand on my father's shoulder.
"If you need anything, Augusto. Anything at all."
Three months later, they were engaged.
Six months later, they were married.
And Sofia moved into the Moreira mansion.
________________________________________
THIRTE YEARS AGO
"This will be your room, Sofia." Monica opened the door to the guest room across the hall from mine. "Isn't it wonderful?"
Sofia, now ten, entered hesitantly. She looked around—the room was pretty, but small, overlooking the side gardens.
Then her eyes met mine across the hall. I was in the doorway to my room—large, sunny, with a balcony overlooking all of Valmont.
"Mommy..." Sofia pointed. "Why is her room bigger?"
"Because Elena has always lived here, dear," Monica replied, but there was something in her tone. Something sharp. "But don't worry. We'll make this your special place."
At that moment, I saw something in Sofia's eyes. A sparkle. Not of gratitude or happiness. Envy.
But I was a child. I ignored it. I thought I was imagining things.
A month later, I came home from school and found Sofia in my room. She was on my balcony, looking at the view.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, not angry, but confused.
"Just staring." She stared at me, and there was something oddly adult in her expression. "Your room is much nicer than mine."
"You can come here whenever you want," I offered, trying to be kind. Trying to be the welcoming older sister. "We can share."
Sofia smiled. But it wasn't a happy smile.
"I don't want to share," she said simply. "I want my own."
And left.
Three months later, Monica came into my room with Dad.
"Elena, honey, we need to talk." Monica used that sweet, maternal voice that I now recognized as false. "Sofia is having a hard time."
She's adjusting. She cries every night because her room is too small and dark.
I looked at Dad, expecting him to defend her. But he just looked away.
—Then she can have mine.—The words came out automatically, because I was thirteen and desperate for my stepmother's approval. For a mother figure after losing Mom.
—Oh, we don't need such drastic measures!—Monica laughed.—I just thought you could switch. Sofia would have this room, and you could have hers. It's still beautiful! And you're older, more mature. "You wouldn't mind a smaller room, would you?"
Right.
Except I did mind. I minded a lot. That had been my room since I was born. Every memory of my mother was ingrained in those walls. She put me to sleep there. She read me stories in the armchair by the window. She comforted me after nightmares.
But Monica was looking at me with those hopeful eyes. And Dad was there, silent, making it clear that he had already made his decision.
"It's okay," I whispered. "She can stay."
Sofia moved into my room that weekend.
She didn't thank me. Not once.
________________________________________
TWELVE YEARS AGO
"Elena! Oh my God!" Camila, my best friend at the time, widened her eyes when she saw me at the school dance. "That dress is AMAZING! Where did you get it?"
I was wearing the dress Mom had ordered for me months before she died. Navy blue, elegant, appropriate for my fourteen years but sophisticated. It was the most "It was my mother's," I replied, twirling around. The fabric flowed around me like water. "She had it made especially for when I was old enough for balls."
"You look beautiful!"
And I felt beautiful. For the first time since Mom's death, I felt like the girl I used to be.
Until Sofia appeared.
She was wearing an almost identical dress. Same shade of blue, same cut, same style. As if she had deliberately copied mine.
And she had. Of course she had.
"Sofia!" Monica appeared behind her, smiling radiantly. "You look stunning! Don't you, Elena?"
All heads turned. Comparing. Judging.
Sofia was younger, more delicate, with that angelic beauty. In the same dress, she looked like a fairytale princess.
Me? I looked like a bad copy.
"Did you two plan this on purpose?" someone asked, laughing.
"No," my voice came out small. "I didn't know..."
"Oh, what a fun coincidence!" Monica put her arm around my shoulders. Sofia. — But you two look beautiful!
Except Sofia looked more beautiful. And everyone knew it.
In the bathroom later, I found Sofia touching up her makeup.
— Why did you do that? — I asked, trying not to cry. — You saw my dress and bought the same one. Why?
Sofia looked at me through the mirror. And at that moment, her mask fell. Just for a second, but enough for me to see.
— Because it looked better on me. — She said simply. — And it always will.
________________________________________
TEN YEARS AGO
— Dad, please! — I begged, holding the university envelope. — I got accepted! Art History! It's everything I've ever wanted!
We were in his office. Monica was there too, of course. She always was when it came to important decisions.
— Elena, darling, we talked about this. — Monica used that condescending voice. — Private universities are very expensive. And with Sofia needing constant medical care..."
— But it's my education fund! — I protested. — Mom left it specifically for my education!
— And it will be used for education. — Dad finally spoke, not looking at me. — The state university is perfectly adequate.
— But I don't want state! I want the private one! It's the best Art History program in the country!
— Art History. — Monica laughed, as if I had said something absurd. — Elena, be realistic. What are you going to do with it? It's not a practical career. Sofia, on the other hand, will study Business Administration. Something useful. Something that can help with the family business.
— It's not fair. — Tears burned my eyes. — Mom left that money for ME!
— And I'm making a responsible decision about how to use it. — Dad finally looked at me, and his eyes were cold. — State university or none. Your choice.
It wasn't a choice. It was an ultimatum.
And as I accepted, defeated, I saw Sofia walking down the hall. She looked at me through the door. slightly open.
And she smiled.
________________________________________
EIGHT YEARS AGO
— Bruno asked me to go to the prom! — I practically flew home, euphoric. Bruno had been my crush for two years. Handsome, intelligent, kind. And he asked me!
I told everyone at dinner. Dad just grunted. Monica congratulated him without enthusiasm. But Sofia...
Sofia was very quiet.
— That's great. — I finally said. — Bruno is really sweet.
Two weeks later, Bruno found me in the school hallway.
— Elena, we need to talk.
My stomach sank. I knew that tone.
— About what?
— About the prom. — He couldn't look me in the eye. — I... I can't go with you anymore.
— What? Why?
— I... — He hesitated. — I met someone. I'm sorry. "It just... happened."
Someone. Of course. And I didn't need to ask who.
On prom night, Sofia went with Bruno. She was radiant. He was clearly smitten.
And I stayed home, watching movies alone, wondering what was so wrong with me that not even my own crush chose me.
________________________________________
SIX YEARS AGO
I met Rafael at my dad's networking party. I was twenty, working part-time while trying to finish university. He was twenty-four, ambitious, with a confident smile and eyes that truly saw me.
— Elena Moreira? — He approached, extending his hand. — Rafael Almeida. I've heard a lot about you.
— About me? — I laughed disbelievingly. — I doubt it.
— About you. — He insisted. — Your father talks about you at meetings. Says he has a daughter studying Art History, passionate about culture, intelligent.
Dad talked about me? That was news to me.
— He really does?
— He does. Proudly. — Rafael smiled. — And now that I know you, I can see why. What.
We started dating three weeks later.
And for the first time in years, I felt like I had something of my own. Something Sofia couldn't touch.
I was wrong.
She didn't touch it. Not immediately.
She waited. Observed. Studied.
And when she saw that I truly loved Rafael, that I was building a life with him, that I was finally happy?
That's when she decided she wanted him too.
________________________________________
THREE YEARS AGO - Christmas Party
— Elena, you NEED to bring Rafael! — Monica insisted on the phone. — It's tradition! Family Christmas party!
I had avoided family events for years. But Rafael encouraged me.
— Come on. Show me where you come from. Get to know your family properly.
The party was dazzling. Decorated mansion, giant tree, expensive food. All the Valmont elite present.
Rafael was impressed. Of course he was.
— You never told me your family was so... rich.
— It's not my family. It's my father's family. — I corrected. — I'm not part of it. "More."
"But you could be." He looked around, calculating. I could see gears turning in his head. — Elena, why did you distance yourself from all of this?
— Because it suffocated me.
— Or because you were afraid.
I didn't like the tone. I didn't like the way he looked at the mansion, at the rich people, with that hunger in his eyes.
And then Sofia appeared.
She was twenty-one, at her peak. Tight red dress, blonde hair in perfect waves, impeccable makeup. Every male gaze in the room followed her.
Including Rafael's.
— You must be Rafael! — She extended her hand, smiling that smile she reserved for when she wanted something. — I've heard so much about you! I'm Sofia, Elena's half-sister.
— Nice to meet you. — Rafael shook her hand, holding it for a second longer than necessary. — Elena told me about you.
— I hope good things! — She laughed, touching his arm lightly. Casual. But calculated.
And I saw it. I saw it in the way she looked at him. In the way she smiled. In the way she leaned slightly when she spoke.
She was flirting.
With my Boyfriend.
Right in front of me.
"Sofia, could you excuse us?" she said, sharper than she intended. "Rafael and I were going to get drinks."
"Sure!" She didn't even seem bothered. "But then you have to introduce me to more people, Rafael! You seem to know everyone important!"
Lie. He didn't know anyone there. But she planted the seed. Made him feel special. Important. Connected.
Throughout the rest of the night, Sofia appeared multiple times. Always with an excuse. Always casually touching Rafael. Always smiling.
And Rafael? He loved the attention.
"Your sister is nice," he commented on the way back. "Very different from you."
"What do you mean, different?"
"More... open. Sociable. Warm." He wasn't trying to hurt me. Just observing. "You should try to be more like that." More like her.
That night, I cried in the shower. Because I knew.
I knew Sofia had seen what I had. And decided she wanted it.
And I knew, deep down, that eventually she would get it.
She always did.
________________________________________
PRESENT
I opened my eyes, returning to the car, to the rain, to the horrible reality.
A pattern. There had always been a pattern.
My room. My dress. My crush. My education money. And now, my fiancé.
Sofia never wanted things for herself. She wanted them because they were mine.
And the sickest part? She never kept them. Bruno lasted three months before she broke up, saying he was "boring." The dress just like mine was worn once and donated. My room became just another space.
She didn't want things. She wanted to win. She wanted to prove she was better. That she deserved more.
And everyone let her. Dad, Monica, Rafael, everyone simply... let her take whatever she wanted.
Because Sofia was the daughter who fit in. The one who smiled at events. The Who knew how to play the social game. The one who didn't question, didn't complain, didn't challenge.
And me? I was the problematic daughter. The one who reminded Dad of his dead first wife. The one who wanted to pursue "impossible" dreams. The one who didn't fit into Monica's perfect plans.
So why would they care if Sofia took my things?
My phone rang. A message from Claudia:
"Elena, where are you? I'm worried. Please answer me."
Claudia. My godmother, my mother's best friend. The only person who still cared.
I called her.
"Elena! Thank God!" Her voice was thick with concern. "Where are you? What happened? Rafael called me saying you two had a fight, that the wedding..."
"It's off." My voice was dead. "He's marrying Sofia tomorrow."
Shocked silence.
"He's going to DO WHAT?"
And then it all came out. The whole story. Sofia's illness, her request, Rafael's decision, the family's reaction.
When I finished, Claudia was crying.
"Elena, my love, where are you? I'll get you now."
"At the gazebo. The one Mommy liked."
"Stay there. I'm coming."
Twenty minutes later, headlights illuminated my car. Claudia got out of her Mercedes and ran to my door, opening it and pulling me into a tight hug.
And finally, finally, I let it all out. I cried in her arms like I hadn't cried since my mother died. Violent sobs, my body shaking, my heart shattered into a million pieces.
"Shh, it's okay, I'm here." She stroked my hair, like Mommy did. "I'm here, my love. You're not alone."
But I was. Deep down, I was.
Because even Claudia couldn't fix this. She couldn't bring Rafael back. She couldn't make my family choose me.
I couldn't change the fact that Sofia always, always, always won.
And I always, always, always lost.
________________________________________