No Refund On My Existence Chapter 1

My sister and I are twins.

From the moment she was born, my sister, Harper, was labeled a "high-demand" baby. She needed constant attention, endless soothing, and deep, consistent affection. Any slight discomfort sent her into a fit of raw, heart-wrenching screams. I, on the other hand, was "low-demand." I rarely cried, caused no fuss, and was, to my parents, blessedly easy.

So, on the day of the divorce, standing outside the Registrar's office, my parents only argued about one thing: who would take Harper.

My mother, Valerie, shielded Harper with her body. "Harper is fragile. Who will care for her when I’m not around?"

My father, Mitchell, reached for Harper’s suitcase. "She's coming with me! My place is closer to the best high school. It’s better for her future."

I stood awkwardly beside them, my fingernails digging deep crescents into my palm. I finally managed a quiet, almost pleading question. "What about me?"

My mother glanced at me, as if she were noticing me for the first time that day. "Paige, you’ve always been so sensible, so low-maintenance. Go with your dad. Your sister is still young; she needs me."

My father immediately frowned, cutting her off. "No! I only want Harper. I'm the one who raised her!"

They tossed my name back and forth like a worn tennis ball, neither of them wanting to catch it.

Finally, my mother sighed in exasperation, pulling out her phone. "Fine. Let’s just start a group chat. Anything about Paige, we’ll discuss it in there."

The group was created instantly, its name a blunt, transactional title: Ellison Minor Communication.

My father was quick to post the "Group Rules":

a. By the 15th of every month, both parties transfer $200 to Paige.

b. Any single expenditure over $15 must be put to a group vote.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

I remembered the phrase they always repeated: “You’re the older one, your sister needs more. You have to be the bigger person, Paige.”

It turned out that by always being the bigger person, I had given up even the right to be fought over.

* * *

The school dorms were emptying one by one as winter break began.

I stood alone in the small room, surrounded by the mess of packing, my frozen fingers waiting for a reply. It had been two hours since I’d sent the message to the group chat.

[Mom and Dad, I’m done with school today. Could someone please come and pick me up?]

The academy was thirty miles from home, and there was no direct bus line. I had exactly $5.20 to my name—not nearly enough for an Uber.

After what felt like an eternity, my phone vibrated. It was a long voice message from my mother. My heart hitched, and I tremulously pressed play.

My mother's voice, distant and slightly muffled, drifted out. “Call your father! I’m with your sister in Key West for the winter. It's warm here, and her chest is so delicate; she can’t handle the biting cold back home. It makes her cough instantly.”

My eyes burned as I stared at the screen until it automatically dimmed. She didn't send anything else.

I took a shaky breath, gathered my courage, and, holding onto a sliver of hope, directly @-ed my father in the group.

[Dad, Mom says she's busy. Could you possibly come?]

A moment later, my father didn’t reply with words. He dropped a photo into the chat. He and his new wife were beaming over a luxurious platter of oysters and a prime rib, their faces flushed with the warmth of the trendy steakhouse.

This was immediately followed by a voice note, thick with irritation. “Now you decide to find me? Where were you three days ago? Can't you see I'm tied up? The school is huge, doesn’t it have a library or something you can hang out in? Figure it out yourself!”

My throat tightened, and tears instantly blurred my vision. My hands trembling, I typed out a detailed explanation, every word a near-plea.

[Dad, I asked in the chat three days ago. You might not have seen it... The dorm is truly locking down soon. I have nowhere to go.**]

After another excruciating few minutes, a notification popped up. My father had sent a transfer: $50.

Below it were two lines of cold, functional instructions:

[Find yourself a holiday job with room and board.]

[You're old enough now. Don't expect the family to solve everything for you. I have my own life to manage!]

A year ago, when they divorced, both parents had desperately fought for Harper. Both saw me as a burden. The easiest solution had been to dump me into this remote, full-time boarding high school, out of sight and out of mind.

My mother always suspected I secretly favored my father; my father always thought I was secretly aligned with my mother. And so, the communication group became their battlefield—a place for mutual evasion.

The four hundred dollars a month was barely enough for food. Any other expense, if it exceeded that punitive fifteen dollars, was subject to the "family court."

Early in the semester, the school requested a $20 Student Activities Fee. I typed the message carefully, weighing every word.

[Dad, Mom, the teacher needs twenty dollars for the Student Activities Fee, for shared class expenses.]

My mother’s voice reply, half an hour later, was full of derision. “Those fees are a scam. They don’t use the money for anything useful. We didn’t have those silly fees when we were in school, and we turned out fine. I vote no.”

My father quickly followed up with text: [I didn't pay for that stuff either. I vote no.]

I was the only one in class who didn't pay the fee and was publicly singled out by the teacher. While the other students watched a movie or printed study guides, I had to keep my head down, pretending to read, burning with shame.

After a few more votes, I finally understood. The "voting" was a mere formality. The result was always predetermined. They had no intention of spending a single extra dime on me. Every last penny, they felt, would be a waste.

I would rather skip meals than face that humiliating inquisition in the chat again.

My phone vibrated again. It was Harper. She’d updated her social media. The photo grid showed her in a brand-new, expensive sundress, beaming.

The caption: Even though Mom and Dad are separated, their love for me hasn't shrunk one bit! Celebrating the holidays by the beach—I'm so incredibly happy!

I stared at the photo grid, the ability to process emotion momentarily gone.

The realization that your parents don't love you is truly a slow, painful process. It’s like being cut by a dull blade, slice after slice. It doesn't kill you, but the pain is endless.

I forced myself to absorb the message. From now on, I had no home.