At the airport, Dad said: ‘She can’t even afford economy.’ My step-sister laughed as they boarded first class. I waited quietly—until a man in uniform said, ‘Your jet’s ready, ma’am.’ The entire platform froze.

The sound of rolling suitcases echoed through Terminal 3, a drumbeat of judgment.

“Move faster, Mia,” my father barked, his voice sharp enough to slice through the crowd. “You’re holding us up. Again.”

I bit my tongue and stepped aside as my stepsister, Laya, strutted past. Her designer heels clicked on the polished floor, a countdown to my humiliation. She tossed her glossy blonde hair back and smirked. “Maybe she’s nervous,” she said, glancing at me with mock pity. “It’s probably her first time seeing a plane up close.”