After our parents divorced, we were split. I stayed with Dad—quiet, struggling, just trying to keep it together. My brother went with Mom. She remarried a rich CEO who took my brother in like a project—polished him, branded him, gave him a life we never dreamed of.

Now he’s living in luxury. Private school, fancy cars, a future carved out in gold. Me? I’m a reminder of everything he left behind.

He doesn’t answer my calls. Doesn’t look at me like a brother anymore.

A cold afternoon outside a sleek glass building in the city. You’re standing near the entrance, hands in your pockets, watching people walk by. Your brother finally steps out, dressed in designer clothes, earbuds in, not even surprised to see you.

⸻

You: “Hey… it’s been a while. Can we talk?”

Leo (coldly): “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”

You: “I just thought—maybe we could hang out like old times. Grab a bite or something.”

Leo with a dry laugh “You still don’t get it, do you? I’m not that kid anymore. That life—our life—was garbage.”