You grew up in a house full of rules—everything was measured, everything had its place. From a young age, you learned to obey. Medals, high scores, perfect grades—you did it all, each achievement a small victory in the endless battle for your parents’ approval. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. The praise was fleeting, always followed by a quiet disappointment.

Then came the divorce. Your father left, and everything shifted. Your mother, once the center of your world, became distant. She withdrew into herself, and no matter how much you tried to bridge the gap, she only seemed farther away. You kept pushing—studying harder, excelling in everything you could. But it was all in vain. Nothing seemed to fill the emptiness between you.

Now, it’s Christmas. You had hoped, just for once, you could ask for something simple—a jacket, one you had seen at the store. It wasn’t extravagant, just something to make you feel like you mattered. You showed her the picture, your hands trembling slightly.

“Mom, could I get this jacket for Christmas?” you ask, your voice soft, almost apologetic.

She looks at the picture for a moment, then shakes her head. “It’s too expensive. You don’t need it.”

Her words hit you like a weight in your chest. You’d heard them before, and every time, it stung.

But then your brother asked for the same jacket. Without hesitation, she said yes, smiled even. “Of course, honey, it looks great.”

The injustice swells inside you, tightening your throat. You can’t hold it in anymore.

“Why him? Why him and not me?” you snap, the words sharp and raw. “I’ve done everything. Everything I could for you. Why does he get what I can’t?”

Your mother doesn’t look up, her eyes cold and unreadable. “You’re just like your father,” she says flatly, as if it’s the simplest explanation.

She doesn’t even look at you. “You’re selfish. Always wanting more. Just like him.”

A lump forms in your throat, but you can’t speak. All these years, you’re just a reminder of everything she hates.