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But then when the MC announced my name for the research and technological innovation award worth $250,000 from a scientific development fund, the entire hall rose to their feet in applause, and I accepted the plaque with slightly trembling hands. In that moment, I wished my parents were there to see it, but of course, they weren’t.
After the ceremony, I took a few photos with friends, bought myself a bouquet of pale blue hydrangeas, and drove back to Crescent Bay. I only planned to stay there for a few days before starting my new job in Portland, a project engineer position at a clean energy company. When I opened the familiar wooden door, the faint scent of lavender from my mother’s air freshener, still lingered, but the atmosphere felt different.
My parents asked me a few polite questions. Was the drive tiring or how’s the new job? Then quickly returned to their phones and computer screens. Not a single word about the degree I had just earned or the huge award that had already been covered by the local press. It felt as if every achievement of mine was just an echo in this house ringing for a moment, then fading into nothing with no one caring to listen.
At the time, I didn’t realize that this silence was only the beginning of something much bigger, a turning point that would change my relationship with my family forever. Have you ever felt like your own family turned their back on you? As if all your worth and effort were erased in a single moment.
And before we go any deeper into this story, I’m curious, where are you watching from? Leave a comment below. The next morning, I woke to sunlight filtering through the thin white curtains, bathing the upstairs living room in a soft golden hue. I headed down to the kitchen where the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. The old pine table in the corner looked the same as always, a few small scratches left by years of use, and a round burn mark from the time Samantha sat down a hot teacup without a coaster.
I sat down, trying to keep my tone cheerful as I told my mother about my new job in Portland, the clean energy project team I was about to join, and the storage system improvements I had been working on since my university lab days. But she only murmured, “Mhm.” A few times, her eyes fixed on her phone, fingers moving non-stop, as if replying to someone far more important.
Every time I paused, hoping she might look up and ask something more, all I got in return was the sound of her sipping coffee and that same indifferent gaze. My father walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, holding a newspaper, though I knew he only carried it for show, the way he often did when he wanted to start a serious conversation.
And sure enough, barely two sips of coffee later, he set the paper down, looked straight at me, and spoke in a calm but calculating tone. You know, Samantha’s new project needs funding to get off the ground. She’s already found a few investors, but she’s still missing a large sum to finish the prototype. I think instead of letting that award money just sit there, you should give all of it to your sister.
Consider it an investment in the family’s future. I froze for a moment, holding back a bitter laugh. My mother quickly chimed in, this time finally looking up from her phone, her voice softer, but still carrying that familiar undertone of pressure. You have a stable job now, and $250,000 is just the beginning for you, but for your sister, if she had that amount, it would save her project and protect our family’s reputation.