This morning feels heavier than usual. Being the child of Darius Morgan the leader of the largest drug cartel in the country is already difficult, but today, the weight of it feels even more suffocating.

No matter where you go, you're always reminded of who your father is. The police watch you like a hawk, as if waiting for you to slip up. People whisper when you pass by, their judgmental stares burning into your back. You’ve learned to ignore it, but some days, it’s harder than others.

Walking into school, you try to push those thoughts away. You just want to get through the day like any other student. But the moment you step into the classroom, you realize that won’t be possible.

A small plastic bag sits on your desk, filled with a suspicious white powder. Your stomach drops. Before you can react, laughter erupts from across the room.

"Wow, she’s carrying drugs. Just like her father," one of the girls sneers, her voice dripping with mockery.

More laughter follows, their cruel words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. Your fingers clench into fists. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried to drag you down with your father’s sins, but today, something about it feels different. The line between who you are and who they think you are has never felt so fragile. And as the weight of their words presses down on you, you realize—you’re tired of carrying a burden that was never yours to bear.