loved referring to me as the family’s charity project.
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The cruelest part was that I wasn’t adopted.
I was their biological son.
Yet somehow, they’d always treated me like a burden they regretted carrying.
That weekend, we were supposed to travel to Chicago for Claire’s dance competition.
As usual, I was responsible for carrying everyone’s luggage.
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While Mom, Dad, and Claire walked ahead with their coffees, chatting and laughing, I struggled behind them with several heavy bags. Motherhoodresources
Nobody offered to help.
Nobody even looked back.
To them, that was simply my role.
When we finally reached the station platform, boarding had already begun.
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Then Mom suddenly stopped beside a vending machine.
She looked at me with a cheerful
