If you asked the childhood version of Eden Anderson who she hated most in this world, her answer would undoubtedly have been her cousin, Bryce Anderson. Ever since she could remember, no matter what she did, her mother insisted on comparing her to Bryce.

Her mother’s ultimatum was simple: whatever Eden achieved, she had to do it better than Bryce.

Bryce was a year younger than her, the son of her Aunt Nancy. The reason they both shared the same surname was that Eden’s father and Bryce’s father were brothers. Rumor had it that her mother had originally been in love with her uncle, but since he and Nancy were already a couple, her mother had settled for her own husband—a man who was kind to her, even if she rarely showed him any affection.

Honestly, Eden had disliked her mother since she was a child.

Her mother was an accountant for the County Health Department, a woman of sharp edges and a volatile temper, prone to erupting at Eden and her father over the smallest trifles. In contrast, her father, a secretary for the Town Council, was slow-moving and even-tempered, always being berated by her mother for his perceived lack of ambition. Fortunately for Eden, her father’s job required him to stay out in the rural districts, only coming home on weekends. This left Eden trapped in a home that functioned as her mother’s personal stage—and Eden’s private torture chamber.

Eden knew her mother harbored a deep-seated jealousy of Aunt Nancy. Perhaps it was because both Nancy and her husband were high-ranking officials, the center of attention in their extended family. Eden felt her mother was desperate for external validation, and that need for recognition was projected onto her, tighter and tighter every year.

Since childhood, Eden had been told she was fundamentally different from Bryce.

Bryce could stop by the corner store for snacks and soda every day; Eden could not.

Bryce could watch TV or play video games for hours after finishing his homework; Eden could not.

Bryce could run wild with his friends on weekends and holidays; Eden could not.

According to her mother, Bryce was born with a natural wit and better social intuition. Therefore, Eden had to work twice as hard to outpace him in every regard. Throughout her life, she had been buried under a mountain of "musts." She had to be beautiful, she had to be brilliant, she had to be multi-talented, she had to be polite...

She felt like a lump of clay, constantly kneaded by her mother and shoved into rigid, unforgiving molds.

Bryce was the opposite. By all accounts, both cousins were good-looking, but it wasn't the same kind of beauty. Eden took after her father, with sharp, angular features that gave off a cold, distant vibe when she wasn't forcing a smile. Bryce, however, looked more like Aunt Nancy—soft-featured and sun-kissed. Even when his face was still, a single smile would soften his edges, radiating warmth. The most frustrating part was that Bryce was naturally charming. His personality and looks fused into a package that made him inherently more likable than she would ever be.

Bryce never had to endure being shoved into a mold. He was born smart, successful, and outgoing. He didn't have to wear a mask of forced smiles, grinding through endless homework just to play the role of the perfect, obedient child.

She envied him. She envied his happiness, his freedom. She wanted that, too.

Eden had grown accustomed to locking herself in the small, dark room of her own heart, refusing to let anyone in. She worked hard to play the role of the perfect Eden, terrified of revealing her true self to anyone.

That was until the year she was in fifth grade, at their grandfather Harold’s retirement party, when Bryce accidentally unlocked the door she had kept bolted for so long.

On the day of Harold’s retirement, the family hosted a large banquet in a hotel private room. After the adults finished their toasts, some of the aunts and uncles decided it would be fun to have Eden and Bryce give a joint toast and perform something for the guests.

"I don't know what to perform," Eden whispered to her mother.

"Just sing a song," her mother said, glancing at her sideways.

"I don't know how to sing," Eden countered.

"You've learned plenty of songs in music class, how could you not know how to sing?" her mother snapped.

"Let it be," Aunt Nancy interjected, sitting beside her. "Don't put the kids on the spot."

"No, that won't do," her aunt-in-law chimed in. "Kids need to be challenged, or how will they grow up? Eden, you should really learn from Bryce. Look at him; he never gets stage fright!"

Her mother’s expression, already cold, froze into ice. The polite smile on her lips twitched and fell.

"He was just born like that, a total ham. You can't rein him in," Aunt Nancy said quickly. "Eden is the sweet, sensible one. I prefer her quiet nature."

Bryce walked back in from the restroom just then. Her mother immediately beckoned him over.

"Come on, you two. Go toast your grandfather, then perform for everyone," her mother commanded.

The noisy room went silent, and the expectant gaze of every elder shifted toward them. Eden stood up, her hands trembling as she held a glass of orange juice. She had no idea what to say. Did she wish him good health? What else? How do you congratulate someone on retiring?

"Bryce, since your cousin isn't saying anything, you go first! Let her learn how it’s done," her aunt-in-law said.

Before Bryce could react, her mother cut in. "Since when does the younger brother go first? The older sister needs to lead! Eden, hurry up!"

Eden’s brow furrowed, her face flushed red. "Happy retirement, Grandfather. Wishing you good health."

Bryce stood beside her, his demeanor effortless. "Happy retirement, Grandfather! Now you can spend all your time at home playing chess and tending to those flowers of yours!"

Harold laughed so hard his eyes crinkled shut, raising his glass to thank them. Eden could see it: Harold was genuinely happy because of what Bryce said, not her own stiff, rehearsed platitudes. Her mother saw it too, and gave her a scathing look.

"So, what are you two going to perform?" Harold asked, setting down his glass.

Eden opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She truly didn't want to sing in front of all these people.

"My cousin is great at English literature, so she’ll recite a poem! I’m terrible at poems, so I’ll sing a song!" Bryce said cheerfully, winking at her.

Eden felt a wave of relief. She recited a poem with perfect, rhythmic cadence. Bryce followed with a few lines of a popular song, hitting the notes surprisingly well. She supposed he practiced because he was constantly humming under his breath.

They finished to a round of applause. As Eden moved to sit down, she felt Bryce tugging at her mother’s sleeve.

"Aunt Linda," Bryce said, "our science teacher wants us to observe goldfish. I saw a fish tank in the lobby. Can Eden come with me to look at it? Maybe she can explain some things to me."

"Go ahead. Ask your cousin if you don't understand something," her mother replied.

"You got it!" Bryce grabbed Eden’s arm and practically dragged her out of the room.

Only when they reached the lobby did Eden realize Bryce had no intention of looking at any goldfish. He led her to the complimentary self-service catering area, where a long table was lined with a popcorn machine, a milk tea dispenser, an ice cream machine, and candy jars.

"Eat! Whatever you want!" Bryce said with a grin, acting with the swagger of a boy who owned the place.

Eden stared at the junk food her mother had strictly forbidden her from touching for years. Her brain felt sluggish, disconnected.

"My aunt never lets you have this stuff, right? Don't worry, eat up. I’ll keep your secret!"

Eden’s gaze shifted from the sugary display to Bryce’s radiant, smiling face. A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in her throat. *Why are you being so nice to me? Don't you know I hate you?*

She wanted to ask, but the words died on her tongue. Bryce hadn't done anything wrong; he was just who he was. She was the one drowning in jealousy.

Bryce handed her a soft-serve ice cream cone and grabbed one for himself. As Eden licked the cold, sweet treat, she made a monumental decision: she would stop hating Bryce. The door she had kept locked so tightly had been nudged open by his simple, clumsy kindness.

After that day, Eden began visiting Bryce’s home frequently. Before, she would have turned down her aunt’s invitations because she didn't want to be around him. But now, she considered him "one of her own"—the only person who had walked through the door to her inner world.

On weekends, when her aunt and uncle worked late, Eden and Bryce would hang out, drinking ice-cold sodas and eating potato chips while curled up on the couch, watching movies or gaming. Bryce never told on her. They were like two separate planets orbiting in a quiet, harmonious peace.

"Running off to someone else's house all the time—don't you have a home of your own?"

One Sunday morning, as she grabbed her bag to head to Bryce’s house, her mother loomed in the doorway, her face twisted in annoyance. Eden’s hand paused on the zipper of her backpack. She didn't say a word. She just zipped it shut, ignored her mother’s thunderous expression, and walked out the door.

She was in a foul mood that day. When she arrived at Bryce’s and saw him gaming on the couch, she felt a sudden urge to release her frustration.

"Let’s play together. I’ll race you," Eden said, sitting down and grabbing a controller.

"Sure," Bryce replied, his eyes glued to the screen.

Eden hadn't realized how bad she was at the game. She lost three rounds in a row to Bryce. The familiar, toxic echo of her mother’s voice—*what do you have to compete with Bryce?*—rang in her ears. She felt a surge of irrational rage and slammed the controller down onto the glass coffee table.

"What's wrong?" Bryce asked, startled, looking up at her with a confused expression.

"I don't like losing," Eden said, her face expressionless.

Bryce stared at her for a few seconds, then conceded, "Fine, next round I'll go easy on you."

"I don't like it when people go easy on me, either," Eden snapped.

Bryce stopped, looking at her with a look of pure, bewildered defeat.

"Forget it. I'm done. I'm going to work on my Math Olympiad worksheets."

"Okay, I'm done too. We can work on them together," Bryce said, setting his controller aside.

Because they were only a year apart, they were working on the same set of advanced math problems. In the study, Bryce finished his work in less than thirty minutes and began mindlessly spinning his pen. Beside him, Eden was stuck on the final problem, completely devoid of a solution.

She hated this feeling. The inability to solve a problem felt like a failure of character. She scrawled a line under the question with her mechanical pencil, the lead scratching the paper with a sharp, piercing sound, vibrating with her inner turmoil.

"Do you want me to help you?" Bryce asked.

"No," Eden said coldly.

She stared at the problem for a long time, still nothing. She dropped her pencil with a clatter, sighed, and turned to him. "Bryce, do you know... I’m just so tired."

"If you're tired, take a break," Bryce said.

"I don't mean that kind of tired. It's something else." Eden frowned, looking at him with desperate eyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Bryce looked blank, then shook his head.

Eden realized she must have been losing her mind to think she could ever confide her secret sorrows to someone like Bryce.

"Never mind." She didn't want to explain. She buried her head back into the worksheets, staring at the empty spaces on the page. The acid in her chest rose.

She finally realized it: Bryce didn't understand a single thing.

Was there really anyone in this world who could understand her?

In fairy tales, the princess chained in the tower always waited for a prince on a white horse to rush in and save her. But in the real world, not only were there no princes, there wasn't even a single person who noticed she was chained in the first place.

That night, after dinner at her aunt’s, Aunt Nancy asked if she wanted to stay the night. Eden politely declined, saying she needed to head back.

When she got home and swapped her shoes for slippers, her mother emerged from the kitchen with a spatula in hand, arms crossed. "Is it so much fun over there? Are you done playing? Going back tomorrow, are you? Is it really that fun to be with Bryce?"

*Not really,* she thought.

In that moment, Eden realized that her aunt’s house wasn't a sanctuary, and Bryce wasn't a savior. Reality wasn't a fairy tale. There were no princes coming to rescue her.

Eden clutched her bag and retreated to her room. She locked the door, sat at her desk, and pulled out the diary she had secretly bought a few days ago. She opened it to the first page and wrote a single line:

"Eden Anderson has no freedom."