Rich Niece Poor Bio Daughter

On the night of my eighteenth birthday, I dragged myself home after a grueling closing shift at the local diner. My feet ached, my uniform smelled faintly of stale coffee and bleach, and the midnight air bit through my thin jacket.

That was when I saw it. Sitting in the illuminated display case of the corner bakery was a single strawberry cake. A small, handwritten cardboard sign leaned against the glass: Clearance. 50% Off.

I stopped. I stood on the sidewalk for a long time, the neon light washing over my reflection in the window.