Secrets in a Diary

My name is Nola Collins. When I was ten, I stepped through the door of the Collins Family's home for the first time. The sunlight was warm that day, golden light filtering through the plane tree leaves, casting mottled shadows on the ground. My adoptive parents, Grayson Collins and Luna Lee, stood at the door, their smiles filled with a gentleness I had never seen in the orphanage. Luna Lee stepped forward and took my hand, her palm soft and carrying the scent of soap: "Nola, this will be your home from now on. We will love you as if you were our own daughter." The days in the orphanage were cramped and cold; no one ever treated me with the tenderness Luna Lee showed. In that moment, I thought I had finally found the happiness I longed for. From then on, I did everything I could to please them, desperate to hold on to that warmth. Every morning before dawn, I would get up to scrub the living room floor, not missing a single speck of dust in the corners. As soon as the school bell rang, I'd rush home to help Luna Lee pick vegetables and wash dishes. Even if I was just handing her a plate, I did it with sincere care. On weekends, I would tidy Grayson Collins's study—organizing his books and documents neatly and wiping the desk until it was spotless. Whenever they praised me for being sensible, it felt like I had a sweet candy in my heart, and all my efforts felt completely worthwhile. But those warm days didn't last long. One evening, a year later, after school, I came home to see Grayson Collins clutching a medical report, his face full of excitement, while Luna Lee cradled her belly, her eyes shining with joy. Grayson Collins ruffled my hair gently: "Nola, you're going to be a big sister. Mom's having a baby." A strange unease gripped me, like something was about to be taken away, but I still forced a smile and said, "Congratulations, Mom and Dad." From that day on, the atmosphere at home changed. Luna Lee's belly grew bigger each day, and all of Grayson Collins's attention was on her. They used to always remember my birthday, preparing a cake and new clothes beforehand, and taking me to the park on the day. But that year, on my birthday, I waited from after school until dark—there was no sign of anything from home. I sneaked a glance inside; Luna Lee was sitting comfortably on the sofa watching TV, and Grayson Collins was peeling an apple beside her. They were chatting and laughing—no one mentioned my birthday. I hid in the small room, tears soaking my clothes, but I told myself they were just too busy, not purposely forgetting. Ten months later, Luna Lee gave birth to a girl. Grayson Collins named her Sophia Collins and cherished this biological daughter like a treasure. On the day Sophia was born, many relatives came to the house and gathered around the crib, praising how adorable she was. I stood outside the crowd, watching the lively scene, feeling hollow inside, as if I had been emptied out. From then on, I became the "invisible person" in the family. Every day when I opened my eyes, my life was consumed by demands about Sophia: "Nola Collins, make milk for Sophia," "Nola Collins, find out why Sophia is crying," "Nola Collins, wash Sophia's dirty clothes." I was like a spinning top, running from morning till night, without a single moment to myself. Once, while making milk for Sophia, my hand slipped and I dropped the bottle — glass shards and milk powder spilled all over the floor. Grayson Collins rushed out of the study, his face growing dark. "How could you be so careless? Sophia's still waiting for her milk!" I crouched to gather the shards and said I'd make a new bottle, but he cut me off, "You're all clumsy—don't hurt Sophia!" He dragged me into the cramped, pitch-black attic, cluttered with junk, slammed the door, and locked it from outside. In the darkness, I hugged my knees, trembling on the cold floor. From downstairs came Sophia's laughter and Luna Lee's coaxing, piercing my heart like needles. I stayed in the attic all night, and it wasn't until the next morning that Grayson Collins finally let me out. My throat was dry and sore, my knees bruised purple, and I walked with a limp. Luna Lee gave me a cold glance. "Be more careful next time. Don't cause trouble." I kept my head down, biting my lip, tears welling up but held back from falling. When Sophia Collins was three, Grayson Collins and Luna Lee took her to the mall. When they came back, Sophia was holding a pink singing doll, a special gift just for her. Sophia Collins ran up to me, showing off, turning the doll's volume all the way up: "Mom and Dad gave this to me; you don't have one!" Jealousy wound around my heart like a vine, squeezing so tight I couldn't breathe. That afternoon, with no one home, I slipped into Sophia's room. She was fast asleep, the doll quietly singing beside her. I grabbed the doll, tore its dress, snapped its arm, and staring at the broken toy, a sharp thrill of revenge surged through me. When Sophia woke up and saw the doll, she burst into tears and ran to Luna Lee to tattle. Luna Lee stormed at me in fury, grabbing my arm and slapping my back, "Nola Collins, how can you be so cruel!" The slaps were heavy and harsh. I gritted my teeth and didn't cry, but seeing Sophia Collins standing there with a look of schadenfreude, my heart completely sank. From then on, Sophia hated me even more, constantly fabricating stories about me bullying her in front of Grayson Collins and Luna Lee. Once, while I was doing homework in my room, she suddenly burst in, tore up my notebook, then ran crying to our parents to tattle on me. Without asking any questions, Luna Lee stormed into the room and fiercely scolded me. These things kept happening over and over, and I gradually realized that no matter what I did in this family, it was always wrong. After Sophia Collins started elementary school, she wore a long ponytail every day. Every morning, Luna Lee would patiently braid it and pin a pretty little flower hairclip in it. I was terribly jealous and wanted Mom to braid my hair once too, but my hair grew slowly, and Luna Lee never paid any attention. One night, when I couldn't sleep, jealousy surged up inside me again. I quietly took out a pair of scissors and tiptoed into Sophia Collins' room. She was fast asleep, her ponytail splayed across the pillow. I hesitated for a long time, but in the end, I cut off a small lock of her hair, then hid the scissors and ran back to my room. The next morning, Sophia saw her shortened hair in the mirror and stomped her feet, crying. Luna rushed over, her face immediately darkening. Sophia pointed at me. "You cut my hair!" I stiffened my neck and said, "It wasn't me," but Grayson went straight into my room and pulled the scissors out from under the pillow. "The evidence is right here, and you still dare to deny it!" He pinned me down on the sofa, picked up a wooden feather duster, and struck my legs. "For bullying your sister! For being disobedient!" The feather duster struck my leg with a sharp, piercing pain. I couldn't hold back anymore, and tears welled up and fell. Sophia Collins stood nearby, a smug smile curling on her lips. From that day on, only bitter hostility remained between Sophia Collins and me, like two hedgehogs bristling with quills, hurting each other whenever we got close. This home that once filled me with hope had completely turned into a cold prison.