Chapter 3

Back in my cramped studio in the city, I finally let the mask fall.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, my legs gave out.

I slid down against the door and crumpled into a heap on the floor.

My suitcase tipped over, clothes and toiletries spilling everywhere—scattered and broken, just like me.

I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I buried my face in my knees and sobbed—the kind of ugly, ragged crying I'd been holding in all day.

The tears came hot and fast, splattering onto the floor, spreading into dark stains.

Why? I asked myself, over and over.

All my life, I'd worked my ass off. Straight A's. Scholarships. Awards. All just to hear them say they were proud of me.

But every time I brought home a certificate, Dad just nodded. "This is what you should be doing. Set an example for your brothers."

Mom would say: "Don't get cocky. Keep it up next time."

But when Allen once broke into the top ten of his class, they threw a whole dinner party to celebrate.

After graduation, I worked like a dog. Three years, and I made marketing director at a public company.

I sent money home every month—more than Garrett and Allen combined.

Mom's reply? A text: [Received.]

Last year, Allen said he wanted a new car. Mom and Dad didn't blink—just handed him forty thousand from their savings.

Me? I hadn't asked them for a dime since college.

I thought my independence, my success, would make them see me differently.

I thought if I was good enough, strong enough, I'd finally earn their pride.

I was lying to myself.

In their eyes, I was just a daughter—dispensable, like water spilled. An outsider.

Suddenly, my phone on the table buzzed violently, the screen lighting up: Dad.

That light cut through the darkness like a spotlight.

I stared at his name, crying even harder.

My hand trembled as I reached for the phone and slammed the red button.

It buzzed again immediately. Once. Twice. Three times.

I rejected each call, each one draining another ounce of strength.

Then the caller ID changed to Mom.

I hung up again.

Then Garrett.

A text popped up.

[Sandra, answer the phone! Mom and Dad are freaking out!]

I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh scraping out of my throat. My fingers flew across the screen.

[What's the panic for? It's not like I'm part of this family anyway.]

Sent.

Then I powered off the phone and tossed it onto the sofa.

Finally, silence.

My best friend Sienna tried to video-call me. When I didn't pick up, she started blowing up my texts.

[Sandra, what's going on? Your phone's off? Are you okay? Answer me!]

I didn't have the energy to reply.

I sat on that cold floor until my limbs went numb.

The next morning, my alarm dragged me out of sleep.

When I powered my phone back on, notifications exploded like a bomb.

218 missed calls.

99+ texts.

All from my family.

I stared at the screen, expressionless.

Then, one by one, I deleted every single contact.

Dad. Mom. Garrett. Allen.

When the last name disappeared from my list, I felt completely hollow.

Good.

From now on, Sandra Phillips had no family.

I'd never beg for their pathetic approval again.