My scholarship was gone, just like that. A group of classmates had it out for me and they didn’t stop at taking what wasn’t theirs. They beat me, humiliated me and kicked me out of school.

My dad—my stubborn, proud dad—knelt outside the school gates for three days and three nights. No one came to help him, no one cared.

My mom, despite everything, scraped together half a month’s living expenses to buy me a small cake. She smiled as she handed it to me, saying it was to cheer me up, but all it did was make my chest hurt.

I didn’t want them worrying about me any more than they already were. So I made the choice to give up the scholarship quietly, thinking it would somehow make life easier for all of us.

But that night, as I walked up to the house, I heard voices by the door. I froze, my hand gripping the bottle of milk I had bought on the way home.

"Mr. Jameson, are you absolutely certain about transferring all your assets to Scott Harlow? He’s not even your biological son. This is a substantial amount of money. Maybe you should reconsider," a man’s voice said. It was calm, professional. Probably a lawyer.

"There’s nothing to reconsider," my dad replied sharply. "We adopted him to inherit the company and now that he’s grown up, it’s time. As for Savannah... just give her 500 dollars a month. That’s more than enough."

My breath caught in my throat.

"500 dollars?" the lawyer asked, sounding almost surprised.

Dad sighed, like the conversation was beneath him. "If we give her more, she might start asking questions. Keep it at 500. It’s fine."

I stood there, frozen in place, the pieces clicking together in my head.

Turned out, my parents weren’t just regular people. They were rich, beyond rich. They were the wealthiest people in the city.

And every single thing I had suffered; the poverty, the sacrifices, the endless struggle, was nothing but some twisted “test” they’d put me through.

——

Inside, I heard my mom speak up, her voice softer than his. "Oswald, this doesn’t feel right. Savannah is our biological daughter. She’s just a child and 500 dollars won’t even cover her medical expenses. How’s she supposed to survive?"

"And what do you expect me to do?" Dad snapped. "Let her inherit the company? She can barely walk, for God’s sake. If she sets foot in that boardroom, the shareholders will tear her apart."

There was a pause and then he added, "The only reason she’s getting anything at all is because she’s my daughter. Otherwise, she’d get nothing. Now stop arguing with me. And don’t forget to act normal when she comes back. You almost slipped up with that cake last time."

I backed away, my hands shaking as I held the milk tighter. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

There it was. The truth, laid out so clearly it hurt. I was never really their daughter. Not in the way it mattered. I was just a burden they had to deal with, an afterthought they could pay off with a measly 500 dollars a month.

I stood there, listening to their voices fade into the house and for the first time, I realized something: I didn’t belong here. I never did.

The lawyer pulled out a draft and Dad grabbed it like he couldn’t wait another second. He snapped a quick picture and sent it to Scott, along with a voice message, “My boy, everything’s sorted. You handled the scholarship issue perfectly, exactly what I expected from you.

“That girl shouldn’t draw so much attention to herself. It’ll save her from trouble later. When you graduate, come straight to the company. I’ve already made all the arrangements for you.”

Scott replied almost immediately, “Thank you, Dad! Don’t worry, I’ll make the company even stronger. And Savannah? She’ll never know a thing.”

The lawyer adjusted his tie, all business. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go finalize the paperwork and have Mr. Harlow sign it.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, I sank back against the wall, my legs barely holding me up. My head spun.

Our life had been one long struggle for as far back as I could remember. My parents were always talking about saving money, about how hard things were. I thought I was helping by being as frugal as possible.

I stopped taking the expensive medicine that actually helped me. I made do with a cane slapped together from scraps. I used old, beat-up textbooks other students had left behind.

Every single day at school was a gauntlet of sneers, whispers and mocking laughter. Nobody wanted to be friends with me.

Forget a boyfriend, I could barely get anyone to sit near me. Even the teachers treated me like I didn’t matter.

But I never said anything. I couldn’t. I knew how much my parents sacrificed and I didn’t want to add to their burdens.

And now, all of it, every single thing I endured, wasn’t for me. It was for him. Scott. The boy they adopted. The one they were building everything for.

I wanted to scream, but all I could do was hold the milk bottle in my hand so tight I thought it might shatter.

After a moment, I forced myself to move. My fingers fumbled with the door handle, but I finally opened it and stepped inside.

Mom rushed over as soon as she saw me. Her apron was so patched up it was impossible to tell what it used to look like. She wiped her hands on it and gave me that worried look she always did. “Savannah, why didn’t you call? Your dad could’ve picked you up! You shouldn’t be walking around alone, you know how hard that is for you. I’ve been worried sick!”

Her words made my chest ache, but this time it wasn’t from comfort.

Dad was on the couch. He gave me a guilty smile, his hand moving quickly to stub out the cigarette he was holding. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air.

“Oh, you’re back,” he said, like everything was perfectly normal.

I just stood there, staring at the two of them, feeling like my entire world had flipped upside down.

"Savannah, how’s the scholarship going? Did your teacher give you any trouble?" Dad asked.

I swallowed the anger, setting the milk down in front of him. "It’s fine. I gave up the scholarship and gave it to Scott. I also promised I won’t fight him for the next spot."

"You haven’t eaten much the past few days, have you?" I could tell he was just trying to sound like he cared. "I bought this with the money I made selling cardboard boxes."

Dad let out a relieved sigh and pushed the milk towards me. "Good, good. I heard the Harlow family is really powerful. We can't compete with them, so don’t worry. Even if I have to borrow money, I’ll make sure you finish college."

"Just drink the milk, Savannah. You’ve been looking tired. I can see you’ve lost weight, you need something to get your strength back."

Dad rubbed his forehead where Scott had hurt him, trying to sound casual about it, but I could tell he was faking it.

I still couldn’t shake the image of him kneeling outside the school gate for three days.

But now, I wasn’t sure when he was being real with me and when he was just acting.

I looked at his hands, no calluses, no signs of a hard day’s work. And my mom, even though her clothes were worn out, her face was still smooth and soft. They didn’t look like people who had ever really struggled.

The bitterness inside me bubbled up, but I couldn’t stop it.

Mom, noticing I had been standing too long, quickly helped me back to the room.

Dinner that night was a disaster. Discounted vegetables from the market—yellowing leaves, bugs crawling on them and white eggs floating in the soup.

Dad gave an awkward smile, looking embarrassed. "Savannah, your mom spent half a month’s living expenses on that cake for you. We're a little short on money right now, but we’ll make do. Once I get paid from the construction site, we’ll go grab those spicy hot wings you love."

It was hard to say anything. Everything felt fake now.

My mom started crying too, her voice trembling. "It's my fault I couldn’t give you a better life. Because of me, you couldn’t even get the scholarship... Savannah, I’m so sorry."

I stared at the sad, greenish food on the old dining table and pushed the plate toward them, my face completely blank.

"It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. You’re both tired from work. You eat. I’m not hungry today," I said, my tone flat.

Mom and Dad exchanged a look, but I didn’t miss the flicker of disgust in their eyes.

Before, whenever they made a meal, they would always scoop the food into my bowl, saying they couldn’t finish it.

I used to feel touched and sad, thinking they were skipping meals just to keep me well-fed. Now, I knew better. They didn’t like the food. They didn’t like me.

I took a small bite, chewing through the tears that blurred my vision. But all I could taste was bitterness.

Seeing me eat, my mom sighed in relief, like she had just solved some great problem.

Then Dad’s phone alarm went off. He answered quickly, pretending it was an urgent call.

"The construction site’s rushing work before the New Year. No time for a break," he said as he grabbed his coat and stood up.

Mom followed right behind him, pulling on her cheap, patched-up cotton jacket. "We’ll stay out late setting up a stall," she said. "We need the money for your tuition next semester."

I limped after them for a few moment, keeping my distance. My heart sank as I saw Mom climb off the rundown car and step into a Bugatti.

Dad tossed his work clothes on the side of the road like trash, brushing his hands off before casually throwing his jacket over his shoulder.

I jumped into a taxi to follow them. Eventually, their car stopped at a five-star hotel.

Standing outside the restaurant, I heard Scott’s voice, dripping with fake concern. "Dad, Mom, is Savannah okay? I told them not to hurt her legs. It’ll make her injury worse."

Dad chuckled and sipped his wine, tossing a sleek black card onto the table. "She can walk, so she’s fine. You did well. She’s disabled anyway and I don’t want her drawing attention at school."

"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."