She had never been first. Not in the ways that seemed to matter, anyway.There was always someone just ahead of her, and that someone was always her sister. Effortlessly brighter, more certain, more easily admired. Where her sister moved through life like it had been made to fit her, she followed just behind, close enough to be compared, never close enough to surpass.It wasn’t something anyone announced outright. It lived in smaller things, in expectations already decided before she had the chance to prove otherwise. Success felt borrowed, achievements quietly measured against a higher standard that was never hers to begin with. Even when she did well, it came with an unspoken reminder that someone else had done it better, faster, more naturally.Over time, second place stopped feeling like a position and became something more permanent. A role she slipped into without thinking, shaped by years of standing just out of reach. She learned not to expect to be chosen first, not to imagine herself at the centre of anything. It was easier that way, to exist slightly to the side, where disappointment couldn’t quite find her as sharply.And yet, no matter how much she adjusted to it, there was always that quiet awareness lingering beneath everything. The sense of being almost enough, almost seen, almost the one who mattered most. Always close.Just never first.