When Monica turned nineteen, my parents bought her a brand-new Honda Civic and told the neighbors she had earned it through discipline and hard work. When I eventually asked about getting a car, Mom said I could use the old Corolla whenever it happened to be free. So I began walking more than two miles to my part-time library job and saving every paycheck myself.
When college applications arrived, my parents treated Monica’s future like a family assignment. They hired a consultant, edited her essays, researched university rankings, and organized every deadline. I applied to Penn State, Temple, and Drexel on my own and was accepted by all three.
When I chose Penn State, Mom barely reacted.
“That’s fine, Julia. Very practical. Not everyone is cut out for research like Monica.”
During college, I worked twenty hours a week, took out loans, and learned how to live on very little. My parents contributed twelve thousand dollars toward my education, while Monica graduated with her much larger tuition completely paid. By the time I earned my communications degree in 2017, I owed eighty-two thousand dollars.
Still, I hoped graduation would finally be my moment.
At the ceremony, I spotted my parents in the audience as I walked across the stage. Dad was staring at his phone, Mom was rummaging through her purse, and only Monica noticed me enough to wave.
