Birthday gifts that changed each year—diamonds, designer bags, sports cars, a villa.
Red envelopes stuffed with gold bars, year after year.
Obscene luxury.
Another taunt. Cynthia making sure I understood.
Buzz buzz!
The phone vibrated. An incoming call.
I answered without thinking, and Cynthia's voice poured through.
"Do you know why Mom and Dad aren't spending the holiday with you?"
Blunt. Direct.
I froze, then the answer crystallized.
"They're traveling with you."
Cynthia let out a soft laugh. "So you finally understand where you stand with them."
"Stop dreaming about being some rich family's precious daughter. Stop clinging to my parents like a leech."
"You were oxygen-deprived at birth. Slow. Defective. How could you possibly represent the Henson family? How could you ever compete with me?"
Each word sliced through me like winter wind, chilling me to the bone.
"But... then..."
My voice shook. "Then why did they come back for me? Why would they—"
"Guilt."
Cynthia's laugh turned mocking. "The richer people get, the more they fear karma. Understand?"
"Or maybe it's just pity."
I had no response.
"Keep the phone. Make sure to check the photos on the messaging app. See how much fun we're having."
She hung up.
I staggered backward and collapsed onto the floor. Everything inside me threatened to explode. I wanted to scream.
Instead, I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, forcing it all back down.
Eventually, I dragged myself to my feet.
Without them—
I could survive on my own.
Sure, I was a little slow as a kid—but that wasn't my fault!
I worked hard to overcome it. I earned my way into an elite university with outstanding grades. I was leagues ahead of Cynthia.
Like every other child at the orphanage, I was one of Grandma's perfect kids.
After packing my things, I trudged through the wind and snow to the now-empty orphanage and lined up a few part-time jobs to prepare for college life.
As for tuition—my grades had earned me a full scholarship.
I'd wanted to test my parents. They didn't have to give me a single cent. All I needed was some sign that they loved me.
Instead, they spun the same lies they had ten years ago.
But I wasn't a child anymore.
During those weeks of working odd jobs, I saw Cynthia's social media posts.
New Year's Eve.
My parents threw her a welcome-home banquet. Fireworks exploded across the sky—all for her.