I could still feel the warm sensation spreading across my palm, along with the faint smell of the scented sachet. I looked down at the SAT admission ticket that Dad forced into my hand—the very one that I thought I had lost. I noticed that its edges had been worn down by constant handling, making it obvious it hadn't just been found under the couch.Dad didn't even spare me a single glance. He picked up a piece of soft, slow-cooked rib and placed it on my twin brother, Henry Simpson's, plate. He then said, "You should eat up, Henry. You've worked hard on the SAT, so I've made these ribs especially for you."I had never heard him use such a gentle and affectionate tone with me before.Henry sat across from me, wearing newly bought streetwear. He wore a new watch on his wrist, his eyes crinkling as he gave a bright, sunny smile. He picked up his cutlery, took a gentle bite of the rib, and exclaimed happily, "Thanks, Dad! You're the absolute best!"He looked up at me with a concerne
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