Part Two: Growing Up Unnoticed
By six, I had stopped expecting kindness.
When Victoria whined that I got “special treatment” for a new school dress, my adoptive mother, Patricia, sighed — and bought her three new outfits. I wore mine until the seams gave out.
When I asked for piano lessons, my father, Gregory, didn’t even glance up from his newspaper.
“Those things cost money, Rachel. We’re already doing enough.”
What I didn’t know was that my birth parents had left $750,000 for my future — money meant for me.
Instead, it funded private schools, cars, and vacations for their biological children.
I grew up thinking we were broke — that I was the burden. But we weren’t. They were just greedy.
Victoria reminded me of it every day. “You’re lucky to be here,” she’d purr, before mocking my thrift-store clothes. Kenneth? His silence was his cruelty. He’d introduce Victoria as his sister — never me.
By high school, I stopped asking for affection.
I poured myself into schoolwork and art — my only escapes. I worked part-time, saved for college, and promised myself I’d build something better.
When I got into a top art school, Gregory said flatly,
“We can’t afford that. You’ll go to community college.”
Victoria went to an elite university a year later — with my trust fund.
