Evidence that what I had always interpreted as unfortunate imbalance or emotional unfairness was, in fact, systemic.
Deliberate.
Measured.
And, in its own polished way, brutal.
The Foundation of Inequality
I grew up in Bellmont Heights, one of those old, expensive neighborhoods in Dallas where wealth doesn’t announce itself loudly because it no longer needs to. The houses there don’t scream. They imply. Long driveways. Established trees. Brick or stone facades softened by landscaping that always looks casually perfect. Front doors heavy enough to suggest permanence. Windows so clean they reflect prosperity better than mirrors.
Our house was a colonial-style mansion with a circular driveway, white columns, black shutters, trimmed hedges, and gardens that were always somehow in bloom at exactly the right time of year. From the outside, it looked like what people want to believe about money: stability, order, legacy, refinement. The kind of house where holiday cards are tasteful and all the children go somewhere impressive.
To people who visited, we were the Bellmonts.