The Family That Never Saved Me a Seat at the Table, I’m Not Saving a Spot for Either Chapter 08

The Family That Never Saved Me a Seat at the Table, I’m Not Saving a Spot for Either Chapter 08

“Why haven’t you deleted those videos yet?”

Ethan’s voice was pure venom, like he wanted to tear me apart.

I didn’t answer. His voice pitched higher. “Do you realize my girlfriend broke up with me because of them? Are you trying to destroy this whole family?”

Clara sobbed. “Harper, people are leaving nasty comments on my videos.’

If my parents’ favoritism was subconscious, these two were worse. They were the ones who benefited, and they knew it.

They never had to do anything wrong. Just their existence made me sick.

I kept my voice cold. “Oh, so now you get it? You’re the ones who screwed up.”

My voice was ice. “I never sent anyone after you. You went online yourselves and told the whole world you

were related to me. You wanted credit. You wanted attention. And now you’re crying because it backfired?”

Ethan bristled. “Why can’t we just work this out as a family? You didn’t have to drag it online.”

“Exactly,” Clara chimed in. “And even if Mom and Dad played favorites, it’s not like we asked for it. Have you ever thought about why nobody likes you?”

The two of them, so self-righteous, actually made me laugh.

“You’re not ‘liked.’ You’re just the beneficiaries of their favoritism. Before now, I just thought you were annoying. Now I think you’re worse than them-taking every advantage and still playing the victim.”

I didn’t waste another word. I blocked that number too.

I stopped giving my family any of my energy. Junior year, I started a studio.

I wasn’t just trying to escape my past anymore–I was building a world that was actually mine,

And I never expected my story to draw in so many people like me. We created together, survived on cheap

bread together.

One night, buried in work and forgetting to eat, my coworker came back with a takeout box.

“We did Korean BBQ,” she said with a grin. “Saved you a plate.”

I opened the lid. It wasn’t a mess of mixed-up leftovers. There were slices of meat, vegetables, even extra

beef and green onions on top.

It looked deliberate-like they’d cooked my portion first, before their own, and packed it separately.

It hit me for a second. I thanked her and tore into it.

The food was so spicy it made my eyes water, but I couldn’t stop eating. The heat seared through me, and somewhere in the middle of it, that last cold knot in my chest finally let go.

Senior year, my studio became a company. I got the keys to my own place

I hired someone to cook for me-she’d have the meal ready before I got home. It was always warm, never cold leftovers.

I finally had a home of my own. No walking on eggshells, no eating other people’s scraps, no cleaning up after anyone.

I just had to be myself.

Until one day, my housekeeper called, hesitant. “Miss Dale… your parents are here.”