Chapter 2

The next morning, Mara insisted on taking us to the city's high-end shopping district.

Liora was about to step into the corporate world, my mother declared, and she needed a wardrobe that commanded respect. We drifted from one luxury boutique to another, picking up a nine-hundred-dollar designer blazer, a twenty-five-hundred-dollar leather tote, and strappy heels that cost more than my entire semester's budget.

Every time Liora checked a price tag and gasped, Mara just laughed and waved her hand. "Don't you worry about the numbers, sweetie. You're going to be a top-tier executive. You have to look the part."

Toren hovered by the registers, happily swiping his platinum credit card. Joren trudged behind them, both arms loaded with sleek shopping bags, enthusiastically asking Liora if she wanted to stop by the Chanel counter for a new signature fragrance.

At a high-end shoe lounge, Kael crouched on the plush carpet, gently pressing his thumb against the heel of Liora's new pumps.

"The leather is a bit stiff right here," Kael murmured, his brow furrowed with concern. "Let's ask them to size up. I don't want you getting blisters on your first day."

I stood a few feet away, watching the tender, protective slope of his shoulders.

Over our four years of college, I had walked miles in cheap, ill-fitting heels just to look nice for his fraternity formals. When my heels chafed and bled through my bandaids, he had simply rolled his eyes and laughed at me for being high-maintenance.

Now, the truth hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't that he didn't understand that shoes could hurt. It was just that when I was the one bleeding, my pain simply didn't register as a problem worth solving.

Later, as we passed a travel outfitter, my feet slowed.

My current suitcase was over a decade old. The hard plastic shell was cracked, held together by three layers of duct tape, and the mismatched wheels dragged with an agonizing squeak.

I wandered into the store and found a basic, soft-shell carry-on sitting on the clearance rack. It was marked down to $49.99.

I didn't take it straight to the register. Instead, I carried it over to my father.

"Dad, could I get this?"

Maybe I was stupid. Maybe, deep down, I was still clinging to some pathetic, unspoken hope. They had just dropped nearly five grand outfitting Liora for a job she hadn't even secured yet. Surely, fifty dollars for their actual flesh and blood wouldn't be an issue. I just wanted proof that I occupied even a fraction of a percent of the space Liora took up in their hearts.

Toren looked from the canvas bag to me, his brow heavily lined with disapproval. "Don't we have suitcases in the attic?"

"The one I use is ten years old," I said. "The wheels are completely broken."

"So you pull it a little harder. It still holds clothes, doesn't it?" He let out a harsh sigh. "Do you think money just grows on trees? Stop treating my wallet like a bottomless pit."

Hearing the commotion, Mara drifted over, her eyes dropping to the cheap suitcase with absolute disdain.

"Goodness, Elowen. Liora is stepping into a premier firm; she needs quality items. What kind of elite company is going to hire you?" She scoffed. "You'll end up answering phones in some gloomy back office. Who cares what kind of bag you drag onto the subway? Just make do."

Standing behind her, Joren let out a low, mocking chuckle. "She's just jealous. She sees Leo getting spoiled and her own inferiority complex can't handle it."

My grip on the telescopic handle went rigid. Slowly, I pushed the suitcase back into its designated slot.

"Never mind," I whispered.

Liora stood outside the storefront, her new bag slung over her shoulder, surrounded by a fortress of glossy shopping bags. She blinked at me innocently. "Did you not find anything, El?"

"No," I replied, staring down at my frayed, hand-washed canvas tote.

It wasn't that my family couldn't afford things. It wasn't that appearances didn't matter to them. It was that whenever it came to my needs, the expense was suddenly deemed an egregious waste.

That evening, Mara booked a private room at an upscale steakhouse, claiming she wanted to celebrate our joint graduation.

When we walked into the dining room, a massive, custom-tiered cake took up the center of the table. The elegant, gold-piped frosting across the top read: Happy Graduation Princess Liora! The World is Yours!

Liora read the icing and brought a hand to her mouth, putting on a flawless display of modest embarrassment. "Oh, Aunt Mara, I think the bakery forgot to write Elowen's name."

Mara didn't even look up from her cocktail menu. "Elowen despises vanilla fondant anyway. It doesn't matter if her name is there or not."

I loved vanilla. But she had never bought me a birthday cake, so she wouldn't know.

Halfway through the filet mignon, my father pulled a crisp, heavy-stock envelope from his breast pocket and slid it across the tablecloth to Liora.

"I spoke to Corin Thorne," he said, beaming with pride. "You report to Veridian Innovations next Monday. Excellent benefits, and best of all, the headquarters is right downtown, meaning you stay close to us."

Liora's eyes instantly flooded with tears. "You guys do so much for me. I... I honestly don't know how I'll ever repay you."

Mara reached across the table, squeezing Liora's hand. "Don't be silly, sweetheart. There's no need for repayment. We treat you like our own daughter because that's exactly what you are."

I sat still, staring at their intertwined hands. The warmth radiating from their little unit was absolutely blinding, and yet, I was entirely frozen out. I felt like a trespasser, a ghost who had accidentally wandered into a stranger's family dinner.

When the waiter brought the leather check-presenter, Toren casually tossed down his card.

A moment later, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a notification from our family group chat. A shared Venmo request, initiated by Mara, tagging only me.

For: Graduation Dinner. Amount: $42.58.

"You've got your degree now, Elowen," Mara announced. "You're a functional adult. The Bank of Mom and Dad is officially closed. From now on, you pay for your own meals. And if you plan on living in your old room while you job hunt, you'll be splitting the rent and utilities down the middle."

I looked down at my phone screen. The fifty-eight cents felt like a joke.

I didn't argue. I didn't cry.

I just quietly clicked Pay.