Chapter 3

There was another, more important reason. High-achieving students at that university had their tuition and fees waived in full.

My school advisor paused before saying, "If there's something you're struggling with, you can tell me."

"Okay."

An advisor who had no blood relation to me cared about me. He was willing to think about my future, yet the people closest to me only ever told me to wait.

Mason trained for three hours, and I stood there for all three. Whenever he took a break, I'd hurry over with a towel or a bottle of water, afraid he'd go home and tell Mom I "wasn't putting in any effort."

It had been the same around this time last year, when he took part in a district soccer tournament.

Back then...

Mom had gone to Grandma's house and told me to take the day off school so I could stay with him.

At one point, I took just three seconds to answer a phone call.

I made him wait three seconds. That night, Dad's face turned cold as he told me I didn't care enough about Mason.

He withheld my allowance for two weeks that month.

After living on plain pasta until I couldn't take it anymore, I finally called him.

"You made Mason wait three seconds for his water, so you can wait three seconds longer for your dinner!"

That was when I understood. In this family, I was expected to wait for everyone, but I could never make anyone wait for me.

Later, I found a job washing dishes at a little restaurant behind our house and barely scraped by for half a month.

…

Mason and Mia had both done well in their competitions.

That evening, my grandparents came over. They brought the city's famous truffle mushroom soup and roast chicken from a renowned old restaurant.

As always, they divided everything among exactly four plates. There wasn't one for me, and I didn't try to squeeze my way in.

Mia ate her roast chicken, then dumped the leftover bones and soup into my bowl. "Here. Now you have some too. You can't say Grandma and Grandpa are playing favorites."

My chest ached a little. Apparently, waiting for their old clothes and shoes wasn't enough. Even when it came to food, I had to wait until they'd finished with it.

Halfway through, Mia's hand grew tired.

Half a bowl of soup spilled across the back of my hand.

My skin immediately turned red. Soon, blisters began to form.

I couldn't tell whether Mia genuinely hadn't noticed or was only pretending not to. She simply told me, "Eat. Grandma and Grandpa said there'll be more next time."

But she was lying. All my life, my grandparents had bought Mason and Mia countless things to eat, drink, and wear. Every time, they'd told me to wait. Wait until next time. It was as if I were waiting for a promise that would never come true.

My name was Madison, but in this family, I was really Mister Wait-Your-Turn. My classmates called me Mister Wait-Your-Turn too.

But whenever there was something good to eat or something fun to do, they always made sure I got some first. They'd grin at me and say, "You spend all your time waiting for Mason, Mia, mom, and dad at home. At school, we won't make you wait."

I stayed silent.

I stared at the blisters on the back of my hand. They slowly turned white, swelled, and became translucent.

I could hear Mia whining playfully to my grandparents. I could hear Mason chewing loudly as he stuffed his mouth with one piece of meat after another. My parents laughed as they talked about the funny things my siblings had done.

And me? All I had was a blistered hand and half a bowl of soup filled with chicken bones.

Pain throbbed through my hand with every beat of my heart. It hurt badly, but I endured it. In this family, I didn't have the right to say I was in pain. Even if I did, it wouldn't change anything.

Mom would tell me, "Go run some cold water over it."

Dad would say nothing. He'd just give me a look that said I was useless.

Mia would offer a half-hearted apology.

Mason wouldn't even look up from his food.

I closed my eyes and drank the rest of the soup in one gulp. I didn't dare leave any behind.

Otherwise, Mom would say, "Such a waste."

Dad would say, "You're too young to understand how hard it is to put food on the table."

But when it came to Mason or Mia, they always had a different explanation.

"He's a clean freak. He doesn't eat food that's already been in someone else's mouth."

"She's a dancer. She needs to watch her figure."

I lowered my head and carried the bowls, plates, and cutlery into the kitchen.

Grandpa suddenly spoke up. "Is Madison upset because he didn't get any chicken?"

Dad glanced at me and gave a cold snort. "Leave him alone. That's just how he is. He eats my food, drinks my drinks, and still has the nerve to give his mother and me attitude."