Her sister, the girl who had once shared a bedroom with her…who had loved eating Kraft Macaroni & Cheese after school…who used to sit next to her on their sagging couch and fight with her over the remote, now earned lottery win–levels of dollars—every year.

Eileen clicked open the email and steeled herself for whatever fresh self-esteem low she was about to plunge into.

It was a picture of Clare, poised and statuesque, long neck, face turned slightly away from the camera so her chiseled cheekbones and prominent chin were captured perfectly. A long, pale-blue dress looked poured over her toned body, revealing every tightly calculated proportion as it spilled into a short train over the red carpet beneath her silver-stilettoed feet. The second shot was from behind. Clare’s long, auburn hair was styled in an updo so the dress’s plunging back would not be hidden beneath her silky waves. The only flaw, if you could even call it that, was the hint of Clare’s black inked tattoo, barely visible on her shoulder blade, creeping out from behind the dress. It hardly showed. Probably most people wouldn’t even notice it—most people didn’t even know Clare had that tattoo.

Eileen remembered the day she got it.

“Mom?”

Startled, Eileen jumped in her seat and turned to see her sleepy youngest child, Cameron, nowhere even in the ballpark of ready for school. “You’re not dressed.”

“I don’t have any clean shorts.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. Cameron’s load of clean clothes was still sitting in a damp lump in the middle of her washing machine. “I know, I’m sorry.” She racked her brains for some alternative. “We’ll just put what you’re going to wear today in the dryer. It’ll be faster.”

“School starts in five minutes.”

Defeated, and obviously with no good solutions for anything this morning, Eileen nodded at her son.

“Is that Aunt Clare?” he asked, his eyes focused on the screen behind her.

“Yes.”

“Why’s she so dressed up?”

“One of her books was made into a movie, and she went to the premiere last night.”

“Another movie?” Cameron beamed, his excitement erasing the last traces of sleepiness from his face. “Can we go see it?”

The pain—it was a real thing. Jealousy wormed through her gut like an infection. Eileen gave him a weak smile. “Of course.”

Cameron, her most sensitive and emotionally attuned kid, narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She turned in her seat and closed the internet browser on her screen so her glamorous sister was replaced by Eileen’s tangled mess of desktop icons.

“Are you sick?” Both of his hands landed on her cheeks and drew her face back to his.

She looked into his bright blue eyes, took a deep breath, sat up straight in her chair, and conjured a real smile. “I’m only a little sick.”