"Here’s 250 thousand dollars. Use it to reward those classmates," Dad said, sliding the money across the table.
Mom, meanwhile, couldn’t stop admiring the fur coat Scott had given her.
She ran her fingers over it, smiling like she’d won the lottery. "Who says daughters are the only ones with taste? My son is just as good—if not better! Look at this fabric, Scott. You must’ve put so much thought into it. Thank you, sweetheart. I love it!"
Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she added, "When Savannah graduates, I’ll convince her to apply for a disability certificate. She can get a few hundred bucks a month from that. And you can just help her find a cleaning job. It’ll be good for her."
I stood outside the door, frozen, their words cutting deeper than I could’ve imagined.
Disabled. That was all I was to them. Was it my fault I had a broken leg?
I was three years old when it happened. They were too busy working to notice me, let alone care. The water boiled away on the stove and the gas exploded.
A neighbor saved me, dragged me out of the flames, but they couldn’t save my legs.
My parents had the money for my treatment, but they wouldn’t spend it. They said they needed it for their projects, their business.
I still remembered lying in that hospital bed, neighbors and doctors looking at me with pity. Mom and Dad came once. Just once. Then they disappeared, like I didn’t even exist.
That memory had haunted me for seventeen years.
And now, here they were, calling it my fault, like I had chosen this life.
Apparently, because I was a daughter, I wasn’t allowed to succeed. Because I had a broken leg, I wasn’t allowed to dream. All I was good for was a miserable, 'simple' life.
If that was how they felt, then fine. I didn’t need them.
As soon as I got home, I signed up for a management training program with a foreign company. It was far away, the pay was good and it was my chance to leave all this behind.
My dean noticed and called me up the next day. "Savannah, I saw your application. Are you sure? The conditions abroad are tough and you’re just a young girl. Why don’t you think about it? I’ll help you find something easier when the time comes."
I clenched my jaw, swallowing down the frustration building inside me.
“No, I'll just apply for this. I'm not afraid of hardship."
For twenty years, I’d gotten used to struggling. By now, nothing could shock me anymore. My teacher sighed, clearly frustrated.
"That scholarship was supposed to be yours," he said, shaking his head.
"But the university director overruled it. There’s nothing I can do. If you’re set on going abroad, I’ll submit your application for the training program. Just focus on your graduation thesis. If your paper gets picked, you’ll still get the extra point."
"The university director?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "Who’s that?"
"The CEO of Jameson Group. Don’t you know? He donated that building when you started school here. I’m not sure how, but he’s probably related to Scott. Distant family or something."
I hung up before the tears could spill, but it didn’t stop them from sliding down my face.
Without wasting another second, I opened my phone—its cracked screen flickering in protest—and started typing my thesis.
The extra points tied to the paper was the only chance I had of paying for my plane ticket. I couldn’t afford to screw this up.
I was so deep in concentration, I didn’t notice my parents come to my room until my mom’s voice snapped me out of it.
She leaned over my shoulder and squinted at the screen. "You’re working on your graduation thesis? Savannah, you’re not graduating until next June. Why start so early?"
I nodded, not even looking up.
The cloying scent of expensive perfume clung to her clothes, a sharp contrast to the sour air in the house.
My dad, overhearing, poked his head in. His expression shifted as soon as the word "thesis" came up.
"Oh, aren’t there extra points for that?" he asked, his tone suddenly cautious. "Savannah, don’t push yourself too hard. Just graduating is enough. It isn’t meant for us. Someone else deserves it."
The "someone else" he meant? No question, it was Scott. My grip tightened on my phone as my hand started to tremble.
Mom and Dad exchanged a quick look and disappeared into their room.
I followed quietly, pressing my ear to the door.
Through the thin wood, I caught Dad’s voice. "Scott needs that scholarship. If he’s going to take over the company, his resume has to look good. She’ll understand. The extra points are for him."
