“Of course you did,” David beamed. “I always say—best decision I ever made was bringing you into this family.”
They laughed. They toasted water glasses. They complimented each other like a well-rehearsed play.
I stood in the corner like a piece of furniture.
Then Kier turned to me, already irritated. “Well? What are you doing just standing there? Go prepare food for your sister. She just brought us gifts, the least you could do is cook.”
Camille walked toward me with another box.
“Sis, I got something for you too,” she said with a fake smile. “Since I know you love cooking… it’s an apron. With matching kitchen mitts and measuring cups. Cute, right? You can wear it now while making dinner.”
I stared at it, lips tightening. I forced a small nod.
“Thanks.”
“Say it properly,” my father barked. “Where are your manners?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thank you, Camille.”
“See?” David grunted. “Stop babying her, Camille. She should be grateful. Let her show it through actions. Go, cook for us.”
So I cooked.
I cut. I chopped. I stirred and fried and cleaned, bleeding and aching all the while. I did it like I always did—without complaint, without recognition.