Chapter 1: The Weight of Being First
Chapter 1: The Weight of Being First
Morning came like it always did—uninvited and heavy.
Janie opened her eyes slowly, staring at the cracked ceiling above her. The room was quiet, but not peaceful. It never was. Silence in that house didn’t mean rest; it meant the storm hadn’t started yet.
She sat up, her body already tired before the day even began.
From the next room, she could hear it.
“Janie!” her mother’s voice cut through the air. “Are you still sleeping? Who’s going to prepare breakfast?”
Of course.
Janie didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t need to. Her silence had never changed anything before.
She got up, tied her hair back, and walked to the small kitchen. The house was already alive with chaos—but not effort.
Fat was sprawled on the chair, scrolling through his phone, his face blank and lazy as ever.
“Food?” he asked without even looking at her.
Janie ignored him.
Mena stood near the doorway, examining her reflection in a small mirror.
“I need something good today,” she said casually. “Not that boring tea.”
Tart was outside, laughing loudly, probably showing off to those friends Janie had warned him about countless times. Fake friends. Loud, empty, temporary.
But he never listened.
None of them did.
Her mother stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching everything.
Not helping.
Just watching.
“Move faster,” her mother said. “Do you want your siblings to starve?”
Janie paused for a second.
Your siblings.
Not our children.
Just yours.
She swallowed whatever words tried to rise and continued working.
Because speaking never helped.
Because in this house, respect was demanded—but never given.
Their father wasn’t there.
He never really was.
He would come once a year, stay for one month like a visitor, bring money, pretend to care, and then disappear again—to his second wife, where he actually lived.
And my mother?
She didn’t care about his absence.
As long as he sent money for fees and food, she was satisfied.
She never called him.
Never asked.
Never questioned.
It was like they were just… an obligation.
And Janie had learned something early in life:
Money mattered more than presence.
By the time she left for school, her body was already exhausted, but her face showed nothing.
That was her strength.
Or maybe her defense.
At school, things weren’t much different.
“Janie!” Sarah called out, waving with a bright smile.
Janie walked over.
Sarah could be kind—when she wanted to be. Gentle, even. But when her mood shifted, she became distant, cold… and sometimes worse.
She talked.
About Janie.
To others.
Janie knew.
But she never confronted her.
Because trust?
Didn’t exist.
“Why are you so quiet today?” Sarah asked.
“I’m always quiet,” Janie replied flatly.
Sarah laughed. “You need to loosen up. Come with us later—music, crowd, fun.”
Janie shook her head. “Not my thing.”
It never was.
Crowds felt suffocating.
Noise felt fake.
Happiness felt temporary.
Later, she sat under a tree, alone, scrolling through her phone.
That was her real escape.
Anime.
Manhwa.
Dramas.
Movies.
Stories where emotions made sense.
Where love had meaning.
Where people fought for each other.
She didn’t believe in those things.
But she liked watching them.
It was easier than living.
“Hey,” a soft voice interrupted.
It was Lilim.
She sat beside her quietly.
No pressure.
No noise.
Just presence.
“You skipped lunch again,” Lilim said.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You’re always not hungry.”
Janie didn’t reply.
Lilim didn’t push.
That’s why Janie tolerated her more than most people.
She understood silence.
As the sun began to set, Janie walked home slowly.
She didn’t want to go back.
But she had to.
Because no matter how far she walked…
That house was still waiting.
That night, she lay in bed, staring at her phone.
Her only constant.
Her only peace.
Her only distraction.
“I don’t believe in trust,” she whispered softly.
“No love.”
“No family bond.”
“No friendship.”
She paused.
Then added quietly—
“Only money.”
Because money didn’t betray.
Money didn’t leave.
Money didn’t pretend.
And as her eyes slowly closed, one thought lingered in her mind—
Not about her family.
Not about her pain.
But about her future.
She would escape.
No matter what it took
