It’s degrading. I feel like shit.

“No maids here,” he continues, “No butlers.”

My back hits the wall as I grind my teeth together and anger burns in my gut.

He goes on, “No assistants to wipe your fucking little ass. No easy access to your psychiatrist to get you your pills that you need to dull the pain of how shallow your life is!”

“That’s your baggage!” I shout, finally looking up at him and giving it back. “Your issues with our family are not my problem!”

What do I care about maids, butlers, or pills? He’s bringing his personal shit into this.

“Is anything your problem?” he retorts. “Do you give a shit about anyone but yourself? You don’t ask us questions about our lives. You barely eat with us. You won’t sit with us. You have no interest in who we are!”

“Because I’m always in the kitchen!” I blurt up at him, my chest nearly brushing his.

“You’re a brat,” he breathes out, seething. “A self-absorbed, snobby, little brat!”

“I’m not! I’m just…”

I stop myself, scowling and looking away. Goddammit. Goddamn him. I’m not a brat. I’m…

“You’re just what?” he demands. “Huh?”

I’m not spoiled. Tears burn my eyes, and my chin shakes. I don’t care about luxury. Or money. I’m not unfriendly because they live here and live differently. That’s not it. I’m just…

“Just what?” he shouts again. “So quiet now, aren’t you?”

“Dad…” Noah says somewhere from the kitchen.

But I can’t see him. My uncle crowds me, and I can’t stop the tears from pooling.

“I’m not…”

I swallow, no idea what to say. No idea what my problem is. He’s right, right? Any polite—normal—person would be able to converse casually. Engage in small talk. Ask them questions. Smile, joke around…

I shake my head, more to myself than him, murmuring, “I’m just… not used to…”

“To what?” he bites out. “Rules? A spending limit? Small closet space?”

A tear falls, and it takes everything to keep the sob bottled up.

“Chores of any kind?” he continues. “What is so godawful different in this house compared to yours? What are you so not used to?”

“People,” I blurt out.

I don’t know when I figured it out, but it just comes out.

He’s right. I have no idea how to be with people.

Tears fall, spilling down my face as I stare at the floor.

“I’m not used to people,” I whisper. “They don’t talk to me at home.”

He doesn’t speak, and I can’t hear the boys making any movements either, the silence making the room feel smaller.

I raise my eyes, no longer caring that he can see my red eyes and wet face. “No one talks to me.”

And before he can say anything, I run up the stairs, desperate to get in my bedroom and away from their eyes. I lock the door and fall back on the bed, covering my eyes with my arms to stop the tears.

God, why did I do that? What a fucking basket case. He’s going to send me home now because I’m emotional and too much work.

I cry quietly into my arm.

I shouldn’t have done that. I never fight with anyone, but I would fight before I’d ever cry. It’s a weak person’s tactic to end an argument. It’s not a fair fight when someone starts blubbering.

Aw, look at the poor, little rich girl. Her mommy and daddy let her have anything she wanted, but they didn’t hold her hand or kiss and hug her every day. Poor baby.

Now they’ll just see me as even less than they did before. Fragile. Easy to break. A problem to tiptoe around.

How many kids would’ve happily lived with my parents if it meant they were being fed and clothed every day? I have everything, and I just broke in front of them over nothing.

Everyone should be as lucky as I am.

“Can you believe it?” I heard my mother shout.

“Oh, come on,” my father chuckled. “We knew it was going to happen.”

I slowly stepped into my father’s study, seeing my father and Mirai both smiling, and my mom with her hands palm to palm in front of her chest as she giggled.

Then she reached out and wrapped her arms around my father.

I smile. “What’s going on?” I asked softly, inching into the room.

But they’re only looking at each other.

Mirai glanced at me and smiled wider. “Your mom—

But my father’s voice interrupts. “I need to call Tom,” he told my mother, rounding his desk. “All the promo needs to be changed for the new movie.”

I looked between them, coming to stand in front of the sofa, so they could see me.

“Oscar-nominated actress Amelia de Haas,” my father recites as if reading a billboard.

My mouth fell open, and I smiled wide. “Oscar?”

Really? That’s amazing.

“Well, no,” my mother teased, still focused on my dad. “What if I win? Then it’s Oscar-winning actress. You better hold off.”

My father laughed again and came back around the desk, kissing her. “My wife.”

They looked at each other, their eyes lit with excitement and bliss, and I stepped around, trying to catch their eyes as I approached.

I wanted to hug my mom and congratulate her. I wanted her to know I was proud of her

“Mom…”

“Go make some calls,” she told Mirai, not hearing me. “You know what to do,”

Mirai’s eyes met mine, the always-present pity still there, and then she cast a regretful look at my parents before she left the room quietly.

“Congratulations,” I said as I approached, keeping the smile on my face.

But my mom already moved away. “Alright, let’s get to Jane’s office,” she told my dad. “I’ll need to put in a statement.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” he said.

And they both left, taking the noise and excitement with them. Like I was a shadow. A ghost who walked their halls but wasn’t seen or heard.

I stood there, watching them as they tread down the hall and disappeared around a corner. I clasped my hands in front of me, trying to push away the lump that lodged in my throat.

I was happy for her. I wanted her to know that she was stunning, and I loved her movies.

I wanted her to know that.

Why did she never want to share the wonderful things that happened in her life with me, because she was the first place I wanted to run to as a child to tell her when a wonderful thing had happened to me.

Before I stopped trying.

I stood there, staring off. It’s okay.

It wasn’t about me. This was her day. I had no right to demand attention.

I heard the front door slam closed, the house, and everything in it, going still and silent.

Like nothing lived here.

Like, when they left, nothing did.

I blink my eyes awake, already blurry with tears. I sit up and swing my legs over the side, bowing my head and taking some deep breaths.

It’s early morning. I can tell by the blue hue of the light coming in through my balcony doors.