Katherine was the last and unwanted child in a large family. Besides her, there were four siblings—two brothers and two sisters. Her mother often reminded her she’d been a mistake. “We had no choice but to keep you,” she’d say, the words searing like a hot iron. From childhood, Katherine felt like an outsider—unwanted, a burden forced upon them. That pain clung to her, poisoning every day.
They lived in a small town near Manchester. Her parents reserved their pride for the eldest sons, Oliver and James—star pupils, first-class degrees, high-flying careers in London. Both were long married now, their children enrolled in elite private schools. Katherine barely knew them; they’d left for university before she could walk. The sisters, Alice and Victoria, were their mother’s darlings—one a lawyer, the other a West End actress, both with sprawling homes and luxury cars. Their mother boasted about them endlessly, while Katherine was dismissed as the family failure.
Her sisters despised her. They’d been forced to babysit, but never missed a chance to mock her. “You’ll never measure up,” they’d sneer. When guests visited, her mother would pull out albums of the older children’s triumphs, then shrug when asked about Katherine. “Oh, her? Barely scraped through school.” Yet Katherine worked hard, training as a seamstress, finding joy in her craft. She moved out, first to a tiny flat, then a small house—just to escape the disdain.
Years later, she met Daniel. He became her refuge. They married, had a daughter, Lily. For the first time, she knew happiness. Then fate struck: Daniel and Lily were killed in a car crash. The grief swallowed her whole. Her family? Not a single word. No calls, no comfort—as though her pain didn’t exist. Only her colleagues at the tailor’s shop kept her from drowning. A decade passed, her life reduced to work, the wounds still raw.
Now there’s Thomas—kind, patient—but she hesitates. Old scars run too deep. Just as she dares to hope again, her family remembers her. Her father’s long gone, and her mother’s bedridden. Suddenly, her brothers call—busy, important men—demanding she drop everything. “You’ve got nothing better to do. Make yourself useful,” they snap. Her sisters echo: “It’s your duty.”
The audacity stuns her. After a lifetime of humiliation—after they abandoned her in her darkest hour—they now expect her to play the devoted daughter? To the woman who wished she’d never been born? “Sort it out yourselves,” she says, voice cold as steel. The threats follow: disinheritance, public shaming. But she’s numb to it now. Their words can’t hurt her anymore.
Her heart aches—not from their cruelty, but from the truth: she was never family to them. Just a nuisance, now a convenient caretaker. She won’t return to that house of scorn. Let the golden children step up. As for her? She’ll live for herself. Thomas offers a chance, and maybe she’ll take it. But one thing’s certain: she’s done letting them break her. They lost her long ago—and that’s on them, not her.
