My parents kicked me out at twelve because of my grades and told me never to come back. Years later, they mocked me outside my own company, still calling me worthless.

My parents were standing near the entrance beside a young woman dressed in expensive designer clothes.

My younger sister, Rachel.

The golden child.

The daughter they kept.

My father smirked at my suit. “Fancy clothes don’t cover up your worthlessness.”

Several nearby employees instantly looked uncomfortable.

Rachel crossed her arms with pride. “Dad told us you somehow work here.”

I almost smiled.

Somehow.

Interesting choice of word.