At my graduation, while everyone was toasting my sister, I heard my father laugh: “Let’s see if she finds something she’s actually good at now.” I was still wearing my gown while the room applauded.

It was remembering her mother smiling during the graduation toast.

Remembering years of comparisons.

Remembering every time she had been called difficult, selfish, dramatic, or inadequate.

Clara began reexamining her own childhood too.

She had received the car.

The extra classes.

Financial support.

Applause.

Attention.

For years, she assumed her parents simply valued effort.

Now she saw the hidden cost.

She had been turned into the standard Lucía could never reach.

One afternoon, Clara admitted,

“I was part of it too.”

“You didn’t create the comparisons.”

“But I got used