Into Her Favourite's Story

Chapter 1

My name is Sarya.

I have no parents; I am an orphan. One day, my adoptive parents brought me into their home.

They told me I was chosen, that I was special — the child they had always hoped for.

At that time, I believed it wholeheartedly. I believed every word my mother whispered softly as she tucked me into bed, and every smile my father gave me when I called him “Papa.”

For a while, it all felt real.

However, everything changed on the day my brother was born.

In an instant, the home that had previously resonated with the sound of my joy fell into silence.

My beloved toys were given to my brother, my clothes were left behind and neglected, and my mother’s gaze no longer searched for me when she return home.

I often found myself standing outside their room, listening to the sound of their voices as they spoke with him — the way they praised him, laughed with him, and showered him with affection.

I told myself that it was perfectly fine — that she was simply preoccupied with other matters, and that she would eventually make her way to me when she had the time.

Yet, the moment I had been waiting for, that word "later," never seemed to arrive for me.

However, I made more effort. I began to rise early each morning to assist her in the kitchen, folding the laundry, tidying up my brother’s room, and doing everything within my reach to earn her affection again. but, it doesn't happen in the way I expected.

And one day, when I returned home with excellent grades from school — I hoped that perhaps, just maybe, she would smile at me once more.

But instead… she became furious.

I can still vividly remember that day.

I ran toward her, holding my progress report tightly, my hands trembling with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

“Mom, I got the highest marks in my class!” I exclaimed, my voice brimming with pride and joy.

She glanced at my report, then shifted her gaze to my brother’s report card lying beside it, covered in red marks.

I saw her expression change instantly. Before I could even understand what was happening, she tore my progress report in half.

“You should be ashamed of showing this!” she shouted, her voice with the sound of disappointment.

“Do you want to make your brother feel bad?”

In that moment, something inside me broke — a small, fragile part of my heart that never quite healed.

From that moment on, I stopped trying to draw attention from my parents.

I turned into the silent figure — the one who chose to stay in the background, who offered a smile even when it hurts, who always said the words "I’m okay" even when I was far from it.

Years passed, and life slowly moved forward. I started my career with a heart full of hope and began living in a small rented house near my office. I told myself that maybe things would change — that one day my family would finally see me as their daughter, not as someone who simply existed in their home.

I hoped they would smile at me the way they smiled at him, that they would see how hard I worked, and that they would finally say, “We’re proud of you.”

But things did not happen that way. Every month, when I received my salary, I watched it disappear into the same place — my brother’s education.

My parents always said the same thing: “It’s for your brother’s future.” They spoke as if my only purpose was to help him reach his dreams.

I never argued. I kept quiet and told myself that if I helped them, maybe one day they would see me as their daughter like they did in the past.

Maybe they would love me more. I believed that giving was the only way I could earn their affection. So I worked harder, saved less, and kept sending money home.

But over time, I began to understand something painful — love is not something you can earn through giving money. No matter how much I gave, their hearts remained the same.

Even now, I continue to send money every month. I visit them during festivals, carrying small gifts with a hope — that maybe, just maybe, things will feel different this time.