At family dinner, Dad asked if my allowance was enough. When I said, “What allowance?” his face went white. Turns out, Mom had been hiding the $2,000 monthly he’d been setting aside for me, sending it instead to my “golden child” sister for luxury shopping in Paris while I worked until I collapsed from exhaustion.
I’m Logan, I’m 19 years old, and I just started studying medicine in New York City. Originally from Texas, my parents live in Dallas, where my dad works as a surgeon at a university hospital and my mom takes care of our home. After finishing high school, I moved to New York four months ago to live on my own. I worked hard and got into medical school in July, inspired by my dad, but I haven’t been able to enjoy typical college life. I wanted to make friends, join clubs, and have fun, but money has been tight. My parents pay my tuition, but I have to handle all my other expenses.
Apart from classes, I’ve taken on jobs like tutoring, event staffing, and working at a bar. Even with these jobs, it’s been hard to make ends meet each month with rent and living costs. I often switch between jobs to fit my schedule and work mostly on weekends. It’s been tough, both mentally and physically. I get tired in class, and when I come home late, I struggle to find the energy to study. I’m worried I might have to repeat the year because I’m falling behind in my classes. If things keep going like this, I won’t be able to focus on my studies, which are supposed to be my main priority.
I felt anxious and desperate, so I called my mom to ask for some financial help, even if it was just a little. My dad is rarely home because of his busy job, so my mom handles the finances. Even though my dad earns a good income, my mom said they didn’t have extra money and that paying for my tuition was already hard, so they couldn’t send me any more money. With that answer, I felt stuck. Most of my friends who live on their own get financial help from their parents, and I envy them, but I decided to keep working hard at my jobs.
When I think about it, growing up, things were always different between me and my sister, Olivia. She’s 21 now, studying fashion design at a prestigious school in Paris. While I was always expected to work hard and earn my achievements, things seemed to come easily to Olivia. Mom always called her my “golden sister”—the one with a special touch, the one destined for great things. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister, but the difference in how we were treated was hard to ignore.
I remember when we were younger, around 10 and 12, I brought home straight A’s on my report card. Mom glanced at it and said, “That’s what we expect from you, Logan.” The same day, Olivia brought home mostly B’s with a couple of C’s, and Mom threw her a small celebration, praising her artistic mind and saying academics just weren’t her thing. Dad seemed uncomfortable with the disparity but never said much about it.
When midterm exams came, I hadn’t studied enough, and as expected, I had to take retests. I managed to finish the retests in August and then started my summer vacation. I planned to work as many jobs as I could during the long break to earn as much money as possible. After the summer break, I planned to focus more on my studies, so I was going to reduce my work shifts. This meant I needed to save even more money, so I’d cut back on my living expenses. For meals, I’d save by eating instant noodles, bread, and discounted prepackaged meals. Whenever I needed to go somewhere, I’d use my bike to avoid transportation costs.
I grew up in a well-off family, so I never had to worry about money before. I never expected to live in such poverty after moving. It was a very busy time, but I kept in touch with a college friend through text messages. I occasionally checked my sister’s Instagram as well. Her feed was full of pictures from trendy Paris cafes, fashion shows, and weekend trips to places like Monaco and Milan. Each photo seemed to feature some new designer outfit or accessory. I tried not to feel bitter, but it was hard seeing her living so lavishly while I was counting pennies for ramen noodles.
One post particularly stung. It showed Olivia at a rooftop party overlooking the Eiffel Tower, wearing what she tagged as a new Dior dress. The caption read, “Mom always knows exactly what I need #blessed #fashionlife #Paris.” I stared at that post for a long time, wondering how my parents could afford to send her designer clothes while telling me they had no money to spare. Seeing their fun photos made me sad, realizing how different life could be for students at the same university. My friends often invited me out, but I had to decline because I didn’t have the money or time.
“I’ll drive, let’s go somewhere that doesn’t cost anything,” one of my classmates messaged me. “Nah, I’m working everyday, plus I’m heading back home for the holiday season so I won’t be around,” I replied. “Are you sure you’re okay? You always seem tired at school and I think you’re working too much,” my friend expressed concern. “I’ve got the physical stamina and I need to earn my living expenses. Let’s meet up once school starts again,” I responded.
With that, I headed to the bar where I work, but shortly after, something happened. I collapsed during my shift. It was a busy Friday with lots of customers and orders, and while I was carrying drinks, I felt dizzy. The room started spinning, and the tray of cocktails I was carrying suddenly felt impossibly heavy. The last thing I remember is trying to reach for the edge of the bar to steady myself.
I don’t remember much after that, and when I woke up, I was in a hospital. The doctor told me I collapsed due to exhaustion and malnutrition. I received IV fluids and was allowed to go home the same day. I immediately called my boss at the bar to apologize. My boss told me that after I collapsed, he called my name, but I was too out of it to respond, so he called an ambulance right away. He had also contacted my parents.
“You’ve been taking a lot of shifts, and I relied too much on that. Sorry about that. I want you to rest easy for the rest of the month,” my boss said. That meant a cut in my income.
Riding the subway home from the hospital, I wondered if I should take on more tutoring jobs. I felt lost. I was supposed to work at the bar the next day, but now I had the day off. I decided to stay in bed and rest. Checking my phone, I saw a message from my friend that I had missed while I was unconscious. I replied and explained why I hadn’t answered earlier. After learning about my situation, my friend decided to come over. He bought groceries and made spaghetti for me.
While eating the meal he had kindly prepared, we talked about the costs of living alone. When I mentioned that I wasn’t receiving any financial support from home, my friend was surprised. “That’s why you’ve been working so hard? Your dad’s a doctor! You should be getting some help.”
“I asked Mom and she said they’re barely managing with just my tuition.” “Really? But you’re not an only child, right? You have a sister in Paris. How is she affording to study abroad if money is so tight?”
I paused, considering this for the first time. “I… I don’t know. Mom always handled Olivia’s expenses separately. Said she had a ‘special arrangement’ for her.”
“No way, that doesn’t make sense. I hate to say this, but maybe there’s something going on that you don’t know about,” my friend suggested.
I started thinking it over. My dad is a doctor and used to drive a luxury car. Our house is in an upscale neighborhood, and I went to private schools my whole life. So why would Mom suddenly say they have no money for me when Olivia seems to be living like a princess in Paris? Something didn’t add up.
I remembered a conversation I overheard years ago between my parents. Dad had asked Mom why my summer camp was canceled while Olivia was being sent to an expensive art program in Europe. Mom had said something about investing in Olivia’s future and that I was “more practical” and wouldn’t mind staying home. Dad had seemed frustrated, but eventually gave in, as he usually did when it came to Mom’s decisions about us kids.
I became worried. I immediately messaged my mom: “Are you both okay?” She replied after a while: “We’re fine.” But I couldn’t relax that night. Curiosity got the better of me. I called Olivia directly—something I rarely did since we weren’t particularly close.
“Logan, what’s wrong? You never call!” She sounded genuinely surprised. “Just checking in. How’s Paris treating you?” “Amazing as always! Mom just sent me the cutest Chanel bag for my birthday next month. She’s always so thoughtful with her gifts.” My stomach dropped. “Oh, that’s nice. Hey, I was wondering, how are you managing financially over there? Paris must be expensive.” “Oh, I don’t worry about that stuff. Mom transfers me about $3,000 a month for expenses, plus extra whenever I need something special. You know how she is with me.”
I felt like I’d been punched. $3,000 a month when I was told there wasn’t a single dollar to spare for me? I ended the call quickly, making an excuse about needing to study. I thought maybe they were just saying they had no money to keep me from worrying, or to teach me some kind of lesson about independence. Since I had planned to go home for the holidays, I decided I would talk to my parents about this in person. After thanking my friend, he said, “I’ll be waiting for some souvenirs.” I felt grateful to have such a friend.
The holiday season came, and I took the cheapest flight I could find back home. I could only stay for one night and a day because of my job, but I was looking forward to it. When I arrived, my parents greeted me at the door. My dad seemed surprised when he saw me. “You’ve lost a lot of weight, really,” he remarked. I hadn’t noticed myself, but apparently I looked quite different. My mom was also taken aback and fell silent.
For lunch, my mom had prepared salad, soup, and chicken wings. For the first time in a long while, the three of us sat down to eat together. As soon as we sat down, my dad looked worried and asked, “You look thinner. Are you eating properly?”
I told him the truth: “Not really. It’s been a while since I had such a luxurious meal.” “What do you usually eat?” my dad inquired. “Instant noodles, bread, and sometimes discounted pre-packed meals.” “What about the cafeteria food?” he asked. “The cafeteria is too expensive for me.” “Is it that expensive?” he questioned. “It’s about $5 or so,” I replied.
Hearing that, my dad looked puzzled. “Is the money I’ve been sending enough for you?”
I was confused and responded, “I haven’t been getting any money.”
My dad was shocked. “What do you mean? So you haven’t received any money for the past four months?” “I haven’t received any. Have you really been sending money?” “I had asked your mom to transfer $2,000 every month into your account, really.” “I was surprised. Mom told me that your finances were tight and that she couldn’t afford to send any money.” Dad looked confused. “We have enough money. What’s happening?”
Dad immediately asked, “Mom, Paisley, have you been sending money to Logan like you’re supposed to?” Mom looked down without saying anything.
I started to worry. “Maybe Dad got sick and couldn’t work, so that’s why I wasn’t getting any money.” “No, I’ve been working as usual,” Dad said. “That’s good to hear,” I said, feeling a bit better. “But then why didn’t I get any money?” I was so confused. “And how is Olivia affording to live in Paris if money is so tight?” “What do you mean, what about Olivia?” Dad looked even more confused now. “What’s going on?” Dad asked again.
Mom still stayed silent and wouldn’t look at us. “Please don’t stay quiet, can you explain?” Dad asked again.
Finally, Mom said softly, “I haven’t sent any money to Logan.” “What? You haven’t sent any money to Logan?” she admitted. Both Dad and I were shocked. “What? Why not?” Dad asked, surprised. “There are just too many things we need to pay for,” Mom started explaining. “Isn’t our home loan already paid off?” Dad pressed.
Realizing she couldn’t hide it any longer, Mom revealed, “I’ve been keeping the money for Olivia.”
I was shocked. “What do you mean, ‘for Olivia’?” “She needs it more than you do,” Mom continued calmly. “She’s studying fashion in Paris, it’s expensive. She needs to look the part, make connections.” “I asked for some money, even a little, but you said you couldn’t afford it, while you were sending Olivia $3,000 a month?”
Mom’s head snapped up. “How do you know how much I sent her?” “There was a call from Logan’s work recently saying you collapsed from overwork,” Dad interjected. “And I noticed today how much weight you’ve lost.” “What? Logan collapsed? What happened?” It seemed my dad hadn’t heard about this before. I explained, “Yeah, but it wasn’t serious.” “Ha? Why didn’t you tell me?” Dad turned to Mom, his voice rising. “I’m sorry, I was scared you’d find out I wasn’t sending the money,” my mom replied.
“Wait, let me understand this,” Dad said, his voice tight with anger. “You’ve been withholding Logan’s allowance, letting him struggle to the point of collapse, while secretly sending extra money to Olivia for what? Shopping sprees in Paris?” “It’s not like that!” Mom protested. “Olivia has potential. She needs to maintain a certain image. You don’t understand the fashion world.” “And Logan doesn’t have potential?” Dad’s voice was incredulous. “He’s studying medicine! He’s following in my footsteps!” “That’s exactly it!” Mom shot back. “He’s exactly like you, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t need help. Olivia is special, she’s delicate, she needs support.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All those years growing up, I’d sensed the favoritism, but hearing it stated so baldly was like a knife to my heart.
“How much have you been giving her?” Dad asked, his voice dangerously quiet. Mom hesitated. “$3,000 a month for living expenses, and maybe a little extra sometimes.” “How much extra?” Dad pressed. “I don’t know, maybe another 2 or 3,000 some months for networking events, proper clothes, accessories.”
Dad’s face had gone pale. “So you’ve been diverting 5 or $6,000 a month to Olivia while Logan has been starving himself and working to the point of collapse?” “When you put it that way, it sounds bad,” Mom said defensively. “But Olivia is building her career, she needs these things.” “And what has she been buying with all this money?” Dad asked. “Just things she needs,” Mom replied vaguely. “Like the Chanel bag you just bought her for her birthday next month?” I added quietly. Mom looked at me with shock. “How did you…?” “I called her. She told me everything. How you always make sure she has what she needs, how you send her extra whenever she wants something special.”
“This is unbelievable,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Logan had to work until he collapsed because he didn’t have any money, while his sister is parading around Paris with designer bags!” “Olivia has always been special,” Mom said, her chin rising defensively. “She needs more support.” “No,” Dad said firmly. “What she needs is a reality check. And so do you.” He turned to me. “Logan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea this was happening. I thought you were receiving your allowance all along.” “It’s okay, Dad, I…” “No, it’s not okay!” he interrupted. “None of this is okay.” He turned back to Mom. “Paisley, from now on, I’ll handle all the finances. I’ll send money directly to Logan’s account, and we’re going to have a serious talk about Olivia’s expenses.” “You can’t do that!” Mom protested. “Olivia needs…” “What Olivia needs is to learn the value of money,” Dad cut her off. “She’s 21 years old, living like a celebrity on our dime while her brother nearly works himself to death. It stops now.”
The rest of lunch was tense and mostly silent. I picked at my food, suddenly not hungry despite having been ravenous moments before. Mom dabbed at her eyes occasionally with her napkin, playing the victim, while Dad sat rigid with anger, his jaw clenched so tight I could see a muscle twitching in his cheek.
Afterward, I retreated to my room, overwhelmed by everything that had happened. I could hear my parents arguing downstairs, their voices rising occasionally before dropping to tense murmurs. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling of my childhood room, thinking about all the years of subtle favoritism: the way Olivia got a car for her 16th birthday while I was told I could save up for one; how her artwork was framed and displayed prominently throughout the house while my academic achievements were treated as expected and unremarkable; the summer I wanted to attend a science camp but was told it was too expensive, only to find out later that Olivia had been sent to a month-long art program in Italy that same summer. It all made sense now. The pattern had always been there, but I’d never understood just how deep it went. The financial disparity was just the most recent and extreme manifestation of Mom’s lifelong preference.
Later that evening, Dad knocked on my door. “Can I come in?” I nodded, and he sat heavily on the edge of my bed. “I want you to know how sorry I am,” he said. “I had no idea your mother was doing this. I thought you were getting your allowance, and I thought Olivia was on a much more modest budget.” “It’s not your fault, Dad.” “It is, though. I should have been more involved in the finances. I trusted your mother to handle things fairly, and I was too busy with work to pay attention.” He sighed deeply. “I’ve already called Olivia. She was upset when I told her there would be changes.” “What kind of changes?” I asked. “Her allowance is being reduced to $1,000 a month, the same amount you’ll be getting from now on. Anything beyond that, she’ll need to earn herself.” “She’s not going to like that,” I said, thinking of my sister’s lifestyle. “No, she’s not. But it’s long overdue.” He hesitated. “There’s something else you should know. Your mother, she hasn’t just been favoring Olivia with money. She’s been putting money aside for her future too. Money that was supposed to be split between both of you.” “What do you mean?” “We have a family trust that’s supposed to be divided equally between you and your sister when you both turn 25. Your mother has been diverting funds from it to set up a separate account in Olivia’s name.”
I felt sick. “How much?” “About $300,000 so far.” I couldn’t even comprehend that amount. It was more money than I could imagine. “I’ve frozen that account and initiated the process to return those funds to the family trust,” Dad continued. “It will take some legal work, but it’s the right thing to do.” He ran a hand through his graying hair, looking older than I’d ever seen him. “I keep thinking about how you collapsed at work, how you’ve been struggling all this time while I thought you were fine, while your mother let me believe you were fine.” “I didn’t want to worry you,” I said. “That’s not your job, son. My job is to worry about you, to take care of you.” His voice broke slightly. “And I failed at that.” “You didn’t know, Dad.” “I should have known. I should have asked more questions, been more involved.” He straightened his shoulders. “But that changes now. From now on, I’m going to be much more present in your life and Olivia’s, and I’m going to make sure things are fair between you two.”
That night, Olivia called me, furious. “What did you say to Dad?” she demanded, without preamble. “The truth,” I replied simply. “That I’ve been working multiple jobs and still can barely afford to eat, while you’ve been getting thousands of dollars a month.” “That’s different!” she snapped. “I need that money! Do you have any idea how expensive it is to live in Paris, to dress appropriately for fashion school?” “Do you have any idea what it’s like to collapse from exhaustion because you’re working so many jobs you don’t have time to eat or sleep properly?” There was a pause. “Is that really what happened?” “Yes, Olivia. That’s really what happened. While you were buying Chanel bags, I was working 60-hour weeks on top of medical school and living on ramen noodles.” Another long pause. “I didn’t know.” “Would it have mattered if you did?” She didn’t answer that. Instead, she said, “What am I supposed to do now? Dad says I’m only getting $1,000 a month from now on. I can’t live on that!” “Welcome to the real world,” I said without much sympathy. “Get a job, like I did.” “A job? I’m studying fashion design! I don’t have time for a job!” “And I’m in medical school. Somehow I manage.” She hung up on me.
The next morning, tensions in the house were at an all-time high. Mom barely spoke, moving around the kitchen like a ghost. Dad kept trying to engage me in conversation, as if making up for lost time.
“Your mother and I have been talking,” he said finally. “We need to make some changes.” “What kind of changes?” I asked, glancing at Mom, who was staring fixedly into her coffee cup. “For one thing, I’m taking control of the family finances,” Dad said firmly. “And I’m going to be much more involved in both your lives from now on.”
Mom looked up then. “I still think you’re being too harsh on Olivia. She needs what she needs…” “What she needs,” Dad interrupted, “is to learn the same lessons Logan has had to learn the hard way: independence, responsibility, the value of hard work.” “She’s different,” Mom insisted. “She’s more sensitive.” “No,” Dad said firmly. “She’s not different. She’s just been treated differently by you.” Mom fell silent again. “There’s something else we need to discuss,” Dad continued, turning back to me. “Your mother and I… we’re having problems.” My heart sank. “What kind of problems?” “This situation with the money, it’s brought to light some deeper issues. Your mother’s favoritism toward Olivia has been going on for years, and I’ve allowed it. I didn’t realize how extreme it had become.” “What are you saying?” I asked, though I already knew. “We’re going to try counseling,” Dad said. “But I want to be honest with you. I’m not sure our marriage can recover from this. The trust is broken.”
Mom looked up, her eyes suddenly fierce. “You’re blaming me for all of this? For wanting to give our daughter the best chance at success?” “I’m blaming you for lying to me, for stealing from our son, and for potentially emptying our retirement accounts to fund our daughter’s shopping addiction,” Dad replied evenly. “Yes.”
I flew back to New York the next day, my head spinning with everything that had happened. Dad had transferred $5,000 into my account—back pay for the allowance I should have been receiving—and promised regular monthly transfers from now on. “Focus on your studies,” he told me at the airport. “That’s what’s important now.”
The first thing I did when I got back to my apartment was buy groceries. Real groceries: fresh vegetables, meat, fruits, foods I hadn’t been able to afford in months. I cooked myself a proper meal and sat down to eat it, savoring each bite. It was such a simple thing, but it felt like a luxury.
With the financial pressure eased, I was able to cut back on my work hours. I kept the tutoring job because I enjoyed it, but I reduced my bar shifts to just weekends and gave up the event staffing entirely. Suddenly, I had time to study, to sleep, to take care of myself. My grades began to improve almost immediately.
Over the next few months, I watched from a distance as my family dynamics shifted dramatically. Dad moved out of the house into an apartment nearby. Olivia, faced with her drastically reduced budget, initially threatened to drop out of fashion school and move home in protest. But when neither parent budged, she surprisingly rose to the challenge. She found a part-time job at a small boutique in Paris and started living within her means. “It’s actually not that bad,” she admitted to me during one of our now regular calls. “My boss is teaching me a lot about the business side of fashion, and I kind of like earning my own money.”
Mom struggled the most with the changes. She resisted the financial restrictions Dad had put in place and continued to try to send Olivia extra money in secret. When Dad discovered this, it was the final straw. He filed for divorce. The proceedings were messy. Mom fought the divorce and tried to claim half of Dad’s assets and future income, but when Dad’s lawyer presented evidence of her financial misconduct—diverting family funds, emptying joint accounts to send money to Olivia, and lying about it consistently—the judge was unsympathetic. The final settlement heavily favored Dad.
During this time, I focused on rebuilding my health and my academic standing. With proper nutrition and adequate rest, I regained the weight I’d lost and found my energy returning. My professors noted the improvement in my work, and I even managed to join the Pre-Med Student Association, something I’d been too busy to consider before.
Olivia and I began speaking more regularly. Our conversations were awkward at first, both of us unsure how to navigate our new relationship without Mom’s favoritism driving a wedge between us. But gradually, we found common ground. She told me about her job at the boutique, about the customers she met, about her designs. I told her about my classes, my growing circle of friends, my hopes for the future.
“I never realized how much Mom’s favoritism affected you,” she said during one of our calls. “I guess I just accepted it as normal. It felt good to be the special one.” “And I accepted being the overlooked one,” I replied. “It’s what we knew.” “I’m sorry, Logan. I should have seen it.” “We were both kids, Liv. It wasn’t our responsibility to see it.”
1 Year Later
I’m doing well in medical school, near the top of my class, and preparing for residency interviews. Dad has been my rock through it all, calling weekly to check in and flying to New York for every important milestone. Last month, Olivia surprised everyone by launching her first independent fashion collection in Paris. What shocked me most was seeing Dad sitting front row at her show, beaming with pride. After years of her being Mom’s “project,” she and Dad have built their own relationship. Her designs—minimalist, practical, yet elegant—have garnered attention from several boutiques. She’s making it on her own terms, without family money propping her up.
As for Mom, the journey hasn’t been easy. The divorce humbled her in ways none of us expected. Last year, after her department store promoted her to Assistant Manager, something shifted. She called me one night, sobbing. “I’m proud of you, Logan,” she said—words I’d waited a lifetime to hear from her. “I was wrong, so wrong.” Our relationship remains complicated, but we’re working on it. She’s in therapy now, unpacking why she favored Olivia so heavily; apparently, it stems from her own childhood as the overlooked sibling. She’s learning, finally, to see both her children clearly.
The most unexpected development came six months ago when Dad met Catherine, a pediatric nurse at his hospital. Watching him fall in love again at 52 has been beautiful. When he called to tell me he was proposing, I felt nothing but happiness for him. This Christmas will be our first holiday with all of us: Dad and Catherine, Olivia flying in from Paris, Mom (yes, she’s invited), and me. It won’t be perfect—family never is—but it will be honest.
The collapse that started it all… I think about it sometimes. How something so painful became the catalyst for healing our family’s deep wounds. I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone, but I can’t regret where it led us. Sometimes it takes falling apart completely before you can rebuild something.
3 Years Later
I never expected how much things would change. I’m now in my fourth year of medical school, near the top of my class, and preparing for residency interviews. Dad has been my rock through it all, calling weekly to check in and flying to New York for every important milestone.
Last month, Olivia surprised everyone by launching her first independent fashion collection in Paris. What shocked me most was seeing Dad sitting front row at her show, beaming with pride. After years of her being Mom’s “project,” she and Dad have built their own relationship. Her designs—minimalist, practical, yet elegant—have garnered attention from several boutiques. She’s making it on her own terms, without family money propping her up.
As for Mom, the journey hasn’t been easy. The divorce humbled her in ways none of us expected. Last year, after her department store promoted her to Assistant Manager, something shifted. She called me one night, sobbing. “I’m proud of you, Logan,” she said—words I’d waited a lifetime to hear from her. “I was wrong, so wrong.” Our relationship remains complicated, but we’re working on it. She’s in therapy now, unpacking why she favored Olivia so heavily; apparently, it stems from her own childhood as the overlooked sibling. She’s learning, finally, to see both her children clearly.
The most unexpected development came six months ago when Dad met Catherine, a pediatric nurse at his hospital. Watching him fall in love again at 52 has been beautiful. When he called to tell me he was proposing, I felt nothing but happiness for him. This Christmas will be our first holiday with all of us: Dad and Catherine, Olivia flying in from Paris, Mom (yes, she’s invited), and me. It won’t be perfect—family never is—but it will be honest.
The collapse that started it all… I think about it sometimes. How something so painful became the catalyst for healing our family’s deep wounds. I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone, but I can’t regret where it led us. Sometimes it takes falling apart completely before you can rebuild something real and lasting.
The truth about my mother’s favoritism nearly destroyed our family, but in its aftermath, we’re building something new: relationships based on respect, fairness, and genuine love, rather than manipulation and preferential treatment. It’s not perfect, and it never will be, but it’s real. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m being seen for who I am—not just as the less favored child, but as Logan: a medical student, a son, a brother, a person worthy of support and love, just as I am.