At the airport, my father sneered, “She can’t even afford economy.” My step-sister burst out laughing as they strutted onto their first-class flight. I stayed silent—until a man in uniform approached and said, “Ma’am, your private jet is ready.” The whole terminal fell silent.

I bit my tongue and stepped aside as my stepsister, Sienna, strutted past. Her designer heels clicked on the polished floor, a countdown to my humiliation. She tossed her glossy blonde hair back and smirked. “Maybe she’s nervous,” she said, glancing at me with mock pity. “It’s probably her first time seeing a plane up close.”

My father chuckled, not even trying to hide his disdain. “She can’t afford economy, Sienna. Don’t expect her to know how airports work.”

Laughter followed. Heads turned. Heat burned my cheeks, but I didn’t say a word. I just adjusted the strap of my old backpack and stared at the giant glass windows, where planes gleamed under the morning sun. They were flying first-class to New York for a family celebration I was technically invited to but never truly wanted at.

Sienna lifted her boarding pass with a triumphant grin. “First-class boarding, Daddy. We’ll have champagne before takeoff.” She looked at me and said, “Enjoy that.”

“Don’t be bitter,” she added with a roll of her eyes. “Some of us just make better life choices.”