At my grandmother’s will reading, my mother sat in front of fourteen silent people, watched the lawyer read out a $2.3 million estate that somehow included everyone but me, then turned with a smile so calm it felt practiced and said, “You were always her least favorite.” And for one humiliating second, I thought she had finally found the perfect way to erase me in public.

Every Thanksgiving, whenever a relative would politely ask about my life, Marilyn would interrupt before I could speak to explain that I was still playing teacher for the little children. She would then immediately pivot the conversation back to Harrison’s million dollar deals in the city while making it clear that my contributions were entirely worthless in her eyes.

“Tessa is still busy with her little finger paintings and alphabet blocks,” Marilyn would say with a condescending chuckle that made the rest of the table go quiet. She would then turn to Harrison and ask, “Tell us more about that luxury high rise project in Boston because we are all so incredibly proud of your work.”

The true reality of my standing in the family became painfully clear on my thirtieth birthday when I invited everyone over for a simple dinner at my apartment. My father and Harrison claimed they were far too busy with a golf tournament to attend while Marilyn showed up two hours late only to hand me a card with fifty dollars and leave after forty minutes.

“Get yourself something nice, honey, since I know teachers do not make much of a salary these days,” Marilyn whispered as she kissed my cheek and checked her watch. I learned only a week later that she had gifted Harrison a luxury watch for his recent promotion which was a sharp contrast to the generic card I received without even a handwritten note inside.

However, before the disappointment of that day could truly set in, my phone had rung early that morning with a call from my grandmother, Rosalind. She sang the entire happy birthday song off key and told me that I was the finest person our family had ever produced even if the others were too blind to acknowledge my worth.

“You are the only one in this family with a soul, Tessa, and I want you to remember that when things get difficult,” Rosalind told me with a voice that was both firm and full of love. She had also sent me a tin of her famous brown butter oatmeal cookies and tucked inside was a small note telling me that the world desperately needed more people like me.