Dad laughed. It was a mean, cruel, mocking sound. “Your sister actually has a real future. She needs to connect socially. Those girls, their parents have money, connections. They matter.”

My chest tightened. So, my life, my goals, my opportunities don’t.

He took two big steps, invading my space until his face was inches from mine. “Her future matters. Yours never did.”

Before I could breathe, he thrust his hands out, sending me stumbling backward so hard I slammed against the hallway wall. My back exploded in pain. My shoulder cracked the picture frame hanging behind me, and my knees buckled.

Chloe stood there watching, leaning on the counter, chewing gum like it was casual entertainment.

Mom finally walked in. No shock, no fear. Just her disappointed stare, reserved only for me. “Why do you always force trouble?” she muttered, as if I had engineered this chaos deliberately.