The next day, I was transferred to the marketing department.

Marketing was a thankless gig. Henson Group was a traditional manufacturing company, and the marketing department had always lived in the shadow of sales. Nobody there had any real say in anything.

Once I got settled, I started working the front lines.

I took the digital playbook I knew and brought it to Henson Group, launching a few pilot programs for online sales channels.

The results spoke for themselves.

By the end of the first quarter, online revenue was up forty percent.

Otis didn't say a word of praise.

But at the quarterly meeting, he had the marketing department give a standalone presentation.

I was the one who went up and delivered it. When I finished, he gave a single nod. That was it.

After that, my workload kept growing.

Product line restructuring, supply chain optimization, new brand incubation. I had a hand in all of it.

I didn't mind the work. What I feared was having nothing to do.

In two years, Henson Group's annual revenue went from seven million to thirty million.

By the third year, it hit eighty-five million.

Last year, the CFO told the board that based on current growth and profit margins, Henson Group had met the criteria for an IPO.

After that meeting, I stood alone in the hallway.

Felicity texted me: "Congratulations." I sent back a smiley face.

I thought, Surely things would be different now.

They weren't.

Otis walked out of the conference room, and I greeted him. He grunted and kept walking.

That evening, the whole family gathered for dinner. Everyone talked about the IPO.

Nobody mentioned me.

My seat was always at the far end of the table.

When we took the family portrait at New Year's, I stood at the very edge. Sometimes I barely fit inside the frame.

No matter how well I performed, no matter what results I delivered, in the Hensons' eyes, I would always be an outsider.

Seven years. Long enough for a child to finish elementary school.

Long enough for a struggling startup to go from nothing to an IPO.

Long enough for a love to cool from a blaze into ash.

And long enough for a man to have every last shred of hope ground down to nothing.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.

I stubbed out my cigarette and tossed it into the trash, along with the proposal.

After work, I drove back to the Henson family's estate.

I eased the door open. I hadn't even made it past the foyer when voices drifted from the living room, laced with unmistakable irritation.

"What's going on with that proposal? Is it really so hard to get him to do one simple thing?"

I stopped in my tracks.

Otis sat on the sofa, his expression cold. Beside him, Felicity tried to explain. "Dad, Joseph's probably just been swamped lately."

"Swamped?" Otis scoffed. "Swamped with what? I've got more on my plate in a single day than he sees in a month, and you don't hear me complaining."

Steve Henson didn't even look up from his phone. "Dad, come on, you know what he's like. Guy's a slacker. Always has been."

"Every time you ask him to do something, he drags his feet. When has he ever gotten anything done on time?"

Valerie Whitney set a fruit platter on the coffee table and let out a cold laugh.

"An outsider is an outsider. He could marry into this family, but you can't polish a turd."

"I told you from the start, Otis. When you bring in a live-in son-in-law, you'd better choose carefully. But nobody listened to me."

"And now look. Seven years of feeding and housing the man, and what do we have to show for it?"

Otis said nothing. He picked up his teacup and took a slow sip.

Felicity stared down at her own hands and stayed silent.

I stood around the corner of the foyer, just beyond the reach of the light.

No one in the living room knew I was home.

Steve spoke up again. "Seriously, sis, what did you ever see in him?"

"The guy's got nothing going for him. Family's from the middle of nowhere. Couldn't even scrape together a decent wedding gift."

"If Dad hadn't taken pity on him, he never would've set foot in this house."

Felicity's voice was barely above a whisper. "That's enough. Stop."

"Am I wrong, though?" Steve set down his phone and sat up straight. "Look at Mr. Wang's son-in-law. The guy started his own import-export company. Pulls in millions a year."

"Now look at ours. Eats our food, lives under our roof, coasts through a few years at the company, and suddenly thinks he's somebody?"

"You ask him to write one business plan, and after two weeks he still can't squeeze out a damn thing. What good is he?"

Valerie chimed in. "That's enough out of you. Your sister knows the score."

"I'm just saying she deserves better."

Steve slumped back into the couch and picked up his phone again, thumbing back to his game.

The living room went quiet for a few seconds.

Felicity never said a word.

I stood where I was, listening to all of it, my face blank.

On the shoe cabinet by the entryway sat an umbrella. Felicity had told me to take it this morning. The forecast called for rain.

I looked at the umbrella.

Then I turned around, pushed the door open, and walked back out.

The door closed softly behind me. Barely a sound.

I drove to the driveway outside the villa and lit a cigarette.

The night wind blew in, carrying a slight chill.

In the distance lay the neighborhood's man-made lake. A row of streetlamps lined its edge, their reflections stretching across the water in long ribbons of light.

My phone rang. Felicity.

"Joseph, where are you?"

"How's that business plan coming?"

I was quiet for a moment.

"It's not finished."

"How is it not finished?" Her voice climbed half a register. "You know how important that plan is, don't you? My father's already asked about it two or three times. You didn't present it at today's meeting either, and he was already unhappy about that."

I held the phone. Said nothing.

Part of me almost wanted to laugh.

Otis had said the business plan was critical to the company.

But at today's meeting, in front of everyone, he'd told me to step out. Didn't even give me the chance to present.

Critical? Maybe it was.

I just wasn't.

Felicity must have picked up on something in my silence, because her tone softened.

"What happened today... I know it wasn't fair to you."

"But my father is the head of this family. He's the chairman. He has his reasons. You... try not to take it too personally."

I told her I understood.

"Good." She let out a breath, a note of relief slipping into her voice. "I'm glad you see it that way. So just pull an all-nighter tonight, push through, and have the plan ready by tomorrow no matter what."

The line went dead.

I set the phone on the passenger seat and stared through the windshield.

I thought about what was in that business plan.

A three-year roadmap. Transitioning from traditional manufacturing to smart manufacturing. Two new automated production lines. Building a proprietary e-commerce platform. Expanding into overseas markets.

Every item had detailed timelines, budget projections, and risk assessments.

I'd spent two weeks on it.

Run the numbers more times than I could count. Revised the proposal through draft after draft.

Today was supposed to be the day I presented it. But before I could open my mouth, Otis had told all non-essential personnel to leave the room.

Non-essential personnel.

He was the chairman at the company. He was the head of the household at home.

If he said you were non-essential, then you were non-essential.

Seven years. I'd thought that if I delivered results, things would eventually be different.

But in the end, to the Hensons, I was nothing more than a freeloader. A live-in son-in-law who'd married up.

Steve called me a deadbeat, a slacker. Valerie said I was a lost cause.

They'd said it right in front of Felicity.

She hadn't pushed back. Not once.

I opened the car door and flicked the cigarette butt into the trash can by the curb.

I thought about how I'd spent these past seven years.

The first year, Steve called me a "freeloader." I kept my mouth shut, telling myself that time would reveal my worth.

The second year, Valerie said I "wasn't good enough for the Henson family." I smiled it off, telling myself that all I had to do was prove myself at Henson Group.

The third year, I doubled Henson Group's revenue. At the dinner table, Otis said, "Good numbers this year." He didn't mention my name.

I told myself it was fine. He knew. That was enough.

The fourth year. The fifth. The sixth.

Every year was the same.

Every New Year's Eve, the relatives gathered together, and I sat in the farthest corner. I listened to them talk about whose kid had gone abroad, who'd bought a mansion, whose son-in-law had just been promoted to VP.

Nobody spoke to me. Nobody cared what I'd done for the company.

Last New Year's Eve dinner, Steve had too much to drink and blurted out in front of a dozen family members: "Seriously, Joe, you're running around the office like a headless chicken all day. What's even in it for you?"

"No equity. No dividends. You're not even a director."

"Don't tell me you actually think you have a stake in Henson Group."

Everyone laughed.

Felicity laughed too. She told me later, "Don't pay attention to him. He was drunk."

But in the moment, she hadn't said a word.

She never spoke up for me in front of those people. Not once.

It was always afterward, when it was just the two of us, that she'd say softly, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

And then everything went back to normal.

I didn't go back to the office. Instead, I called up Solomon James for drinks.

Solomon was a colleague from my days at the research institute, and the only friend who'd stayed in touch over the years.

We met at a little hole-in-the-wall on the south side of town.

He was already inside when I arrived.

"There he is."

"Day off? Don't have to keep the wife company?"

I shook my head.

He read something in my face and didn't push it. Just lifted his glass and clinked it against mine.

We drank the first few rounds fast, without much talking.

The place was nearly empty. The owner was behind the counter scrolling through his phone, and some news broadcast murmured from the TV on the wall.

After a few more rounds, Solomon started to open up.

"Joseph, you've gotten thin." He pointed at me. "Back at the institute, you had this energy about you. Now you look like you've aged twenty years."

I said nothing. Took another sip.

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Honestly, man, sometimes I think you got a raw deal."

"Back at the institute, who didn't respect you? That algorithm model of yours. Marvin talked about it all the time. Said you were the best talent he ever mentored, that your future was limitless."

"And then what? You just up and left."

I picked up a peanut, tossed it in my mouth, and chewed.

Back then, I'd been leading the algorithm framework for a core project. Three straight months buried in the lab, sleeping four or five hours a night. Writing code until two or three in the morning was routine. When exhaustion hit, I'd crash on a cot for a few hours and get right back to it at dawn.

The day the system finally ran clean, the whole team exhaled.

Marvin Lawrence slapped the table during a group meeting and declared that this young man was going places.

I was twenty-one that year, my head full of nothing but architecture design and model optimization, convinced the future held infinite possibilities.

Then I met Felicity.

I spoke slowly. "The road I took was my own choice."

"I know." Solomon raised his glass. "But I think you chose wrong."

"You gave up everything for love. And what did it get you? You think I haven't heard what your life's been like with the Hensons?"

"Marrying in, doing their grunt work, getting looked down on by every last one of them. What's the point?"

I didn't answer.

He took a sip, eyeing me through half-closed lids. "Joseph, let me ask you something. If you had the chance, would you be willing to come back to the institute?"