If you walked into the Prescott house on a Monday morning, you’d swear you’d stepped into the glossy pages of a lifestyle magazine. The scent of imported coffee drifted through the air, the countertops gleamed like they’d been polished within an inch of their lives, and the woman orchestrating it all—Mary Prescott—looked more like she belonged on the cover of Vogue than standing in her own kitchen.

At least, that’s what everyone else saw.

What I saw was the tension in her mouth when she caught sight of me at the breakfast table, the way her eyes narrowed as if I was an intruder rather than her daughter. She smiled at Victoria—my “twin” sister—like she was the sun breaking through storm clouds, but when her gaze flicked back to me, the warmth drained out.

“Elena,” she said, voice sharp as the clink of her diamond bracelet against her coffee cup. “You’re slouching.”

I straightened automatically. Years of conditioning had taught me there was no point in arguing.

Victoria sat across from me, the perfect mirror image of everything my mother valued. Blonde hair, though hers was professionally highlighted every six weeks. Sparkling blue eyes, enhanced with mascara she wasn’t even supposed to be wearing before school. And a smile that could turn cruel in a heartbeat if you happened to be me.

“Oh, don’t scold her, Mother,” Victoria chimed, setting her spoon delicately into her bowl of fruit and granola. “She can’t help it. She’s just… different.”

Her voice was sugar, but I caught the sly curve of her lips. Different. It was her favorite word for me. Sometimes she meant awkward. Sometimes invisible. And sometimes—on mornings like this—it meant wrong.

Mary laughed lightly, as if her daughter had said something clever instead of cruel. “You’re too kind, darling.” Then her eyes snapped back to me. “You should take a page out of your sister’s book, Elena. Sit up straight. Put some effort into your appearance. Lord knows, you could try.”

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep the words in. Because I did try. Just not in ways she noticed. My jeans were clean, my hair was brushed, and I’d actually woken up early enough to put on mascara myself this morning. But it didn’t matter. Next to Victoria, I was destined to disappear.

I glanced at my dad, who sat at the end of the table, hidden behind his newspaper. Harry Prescott wasn’t flashy like Mary. His hair was grayer than it should’ve been for his age, and the lines around his eyes had deepened in the last few years, but when he lowered the paper and caught my eye, he winked. Just a small thing, quick enough that Mary didn’t notice, but it was enough. A reminder that at least one person in this family saw me.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, his voice warm and grounding.

“Morning, Dad,” I murmured, grateful for him in a way I couldn’t put into words.

Mary sighed as if my very existence was exhausting. “Honestly, Harry, you encourage her too much. It doesn’t do her any favors.”

“Encourage her?” Dad raised an eyebrow. “I was just saying good morning to my daughter. Since when is that a crime?”

Victoria jumped in before Mary could answer. “Mother doesn’t mean it like that, Daddy. She just wants Elena to… you know… reach her potential.” Her smile dripped with fake sweetness, her eyes flicking to me with triumph.

My fork clattered against the plate louder than I meant it to. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

“Barely,” Victoria muttered under her breath.

“Girls,” Dad warned, but Mary only smiled, the way a queen smiles when her heir has impressed her court.

The conversation moved on to Victoria’s weekend cheer practice and the upcoming fundraiser Mary was hosting, both topics I had nothing to contribute to. I stirred the milk in my cereal, watching the tiny whirlpool form and collapse again. Invisible. That was my role here.

By the time breakfast ended, my nerves were strung tight. Victoria breezed past me on the way upstairs, her perfume clouding the air. She didn’t even glance back as she tossed over her shoulder, “Don’t make us late again, Elena. Some of us actually have important things to do today.”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I scraped my bowl into the sink and started gathering my things.

Dad lingered by the counter, pretending to refill his coffee. When Mary disappeared into the pantry, he leaned close. “Ignore them, sunshine. You’re perfect the way you are.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to believe him, but when your own mother looked at you like a permanent disappointment, it was hard.

“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered.

He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t let them get to you. You’re stronger than they’ll ever admit.”

I nodded, but the truth was, I didn’t feel strong. I felt like a shadow in my own house.

The car ride to school wasn’t much better. Victoria claimed the passenger seat like she always did, chattering about some boy who’d texted her, while I sat in the back, clutching my bag and staring out the window. Her laughter was high and deliberate, designed to remind me I wasn’t part of the conversation.

When we pulled into the school lot, Victoria jumped out first, her heels clicking against the pavement as Joey, the cheer captain and her partner-in-crime, waved from across the lot. They squealed like a reunion even though they’d seen each other less than twelve hours ago.

I stepped out slower, keeping my head down. No one was waiting for me. No squeals. No hugs. Just the familiar ache of being on the outside.

“Elena!” Dad called through the window before driving off. I turned back. He gave me one of his rare full smiles, the kind that made his whole face soften. “Have a good day, sunshine.”

I clung to that smile as I walked into school, bracing myself for whatever fresh humiliation Victoria and her friends might have in store.

High school hallways were brutal at the best of times, and walking them with Victoria in the same building was like being a shadow trailing the homecoming queen. Everywhere she went, eyes followed. And everywhere I went, I was invisible—or worse, the subject of whispered comparisons.

“She’s supposed to be her twin?” I’d overheard more than once. “No way.”

Victoria made sure to keep the illusion alive. She’d laugh too loudly, toss her hair, and loop her arm through Joey’s as they strutted past. If she noticed me, it was only to smirk, to remind me exactly where I stood.

By second period, I already had the familiar weight pressing down on my chest. But I kept my head up, kept walking, because if there was one thing I’d learned, it was this: even shadows could survive.

And somewhere, deep down, I promised myself that one day, I’d step out of it.