For most of my life, I felt invisible in my own home. My younger sister, Angela, was always the star—praised for her beauty and intelligence—while I often felt like an afterthought. My mother’s affection was reserved entirely for her, and no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. My father, George, was kind, but even he couldn’t shield me from my mother’s constant criticism.
When I expressed interest in going to college, I was told it was too expensive for someone like me, despite my solid grades. But when Angela graduated, she was enrolled in a prestigious private college without hesitation. I was devastated. I remember crying myself to sleep, only to have my father quietly apologize, admitting he had little say in the household decisions.
That night marked a turning point. I began working multiple jobs, saving every penny until I could afford my own space—a tiny, worn apartment that felt like a palace because it was mine. Occasionally, my father sent me money. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world. Then, suddenly, the help stopped. When I called to ask why, I received a message from my mother demanding repayment for “all the years of support.” Days later, an envelope arrived listing every expense she could attribute to my childhood—groceries, utilities, even rent. It broke me, but it also set me free.
In time, I met Tom, a kind colleague who became my fiancé. We built a quiet, happy life together. When we married, I decided it was time to cut ties with my family for good. But when I returned to tell them, Tom became captivated by Angela’s charm. I felt that familiar sense of being unseen.
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