At the airport, Dad sneered, “She can’t even afford economy.” My step-sister laughed as they boarded first class. I stayed silent—until a man in uniform approached and told, “Your jet’s ready, ma’am.” The whole terminal went still.
“She can’t even afford economy,” Dad muttered under his breath, his tone sharp enough to cut through the noise of the airport. My stepsister, Emily, let out a soft, practiced laugh—the kind that always felt like a slap. Without another glance my way, they strolled toward their first-class gate as if they owned the place. … Read more