On my 30th birthday, I saw on Instagram that my family surprised my sister with a trip to Paris. My mom commented, “She’s the only one who makes us proud.” I smiled, logged into the bank account, and clicked withdraw.
“She’s the only one who makes us proud.” I stared at those words on my phone screen, my 30th birthday cake sitting untouched in front of me.
My mom had commented on my sister Brooke’s Instagram post, a photo of her grinning at the airport, luggage in tow, ready for a surprise trip to Paris that our parents had just gifted her. The post was full of heart emojis and exclamation points, and underneath it, dozens of congratulatory comments from family and friends.
My name is Ashley, and I turned 30 years old that day in a quiet apartment in Richmond, Virginia.
I worked as a pharmaceutical sales representative, pulling in decent money, but nothing glamorous. I lived alone, kept to myself mostly, and had spent the better part of the last 8 years trying to prove to my family that I mattered.
That morning, I woke up hoping for a phone call, a text, maybe even a card in the mail.
Instead, I got silence.
Then, I got that Instagram post.
I sat there at my small kitchen table, the single cupcake I’d bought myself from the bakery downstairs looking sadder by the minute. I refreshed the post again, as if maybe I’d misread it.
But no, there it was. Brooke, 26 years old, beaming like she’d won the lottery. And my mom’s comment pinned right at the top where everyone could see it.
The thing is, I wasn’t surprised.
Not really.
This was how it had always been.
Brooke was the golden child. The one who could do no wrong. The one who got all the attention, all the praise, all the support.
And me?
I was the backup plan, the one they tolerated but never celebrated.
Growing up, Brooke got the best room in the house, the new clothes, the private tutoring when she struggled in school.
I got hand-me-downs and a pat on the head when I brought home straight As.
When Brooke wanted to join the dance team in middle school, my parents paid for expensive lessons and costumes without blinking.
When I asked to take photography classes in high school, my dad told me we couldn’t afford it and that I should focus on more practical things.
I worked at a grocery store after school to save up for a used camera instead.
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