The kitchen felt like a punishment chamber disguised as a showpiece. Heat rolled off the oversized stainless-steel oven in suffocating waves, the kind of appliance my stepmother Karen had insisted on installing because it “looked professional,” even though she rarely cooked. A holiday ham roasted inside, filling the air with grease and smoke while I stood at the farmhouse sink scrubbing a pan nearly as wide as my shoulders.

My hands burned. The skin was cracked and raw from detergent and boiling water. Through the swinging door, I could hear crystal glasses clinking and laughter rising—sharp, effortless laughter from people who had never scrubbed anything in their lives.

“Elara!” Karen’s voice sliced through the noise. “Bring the wine. And be careful. That Persian rug costs more than everything you own.”

I flinched. The so-called spill she loved to reference had happened years ago, and it wasn’t even my fault. But in this house, truth bent to convenience, and I had long ago been assigned the role of the problem.

I wiped my hands on my apron, the same stained one I wore every day, and grabbed the bottle of Cabernet that cost more than my weekly grocery budget. When I stepped into the dining room, it felt like crossing into another world.

The table gleamed with silver and bone china. Evergreen garlands framed the mantel, and a towering Christmas tree sparkled with delicate glass ornaments. Everything was curated, expensive, flawless.

Bella sat near the head of the table, radiant in a red silk dress that shimmered under the candlelight. A diamond bracelet flashed on her wrist as she laughed.

“So I told the professor,” she said, swirling her wine, “that if he didn’t fix my grade, Mom would speak to the dean. Magically, it turned into an A.”

Karen laughed proudly. “That’s my girl. You have to assert yourself.”

I poured their wine silently.

“Careful,” Bella said, wrinkling her nose. “You smell like grease. Have you even showered today?”

“I’ve been cooking since dawn,” I replied softly.

“Don’t talk back,” Karen snapped. “And go change. Or better yet, stay out of sight until dessert. No one wants to see… that while eating.”

I looked down at my worn sneakers, the soles peeling. “I don’t have anything else.”

“That’s because you’re lazy,” Bella said sweetly. “You work all the time but have nothing to show for it. Funny how that works.”

I bit my tongue. I worked two jobs. Every dollar went toward rent for my attic room and the tuition I couldn’t quite afford anymore.

Then the doorbell rang.

Karen straightened instantly. “He’s here. Elara, get the door. And smile.”

I opened it to find my grandfather standing on the porch, leaning on a cane, his sharp blue eyes taking in everything at once. He looked older, thinner—but his gaze missed nothing.

“Elara?” he said slowly.

He looked me over, from my apron to my hands. His expression hardened. “Why are you dressed like this? It’s Christmas. Didn’t you receive the package I sent?”

“I didn’t get anything,” I said honestly.

Karen rushed in, linking her arm through his. “Mail has been unreliable. Come inside. Dinner’s ready.”

He hesitated, still watching me, then nodded.

At the table, the seating made everything clear. Grandfather at the head. Karen and Bella beside him. Me at the far end, closest to the kitchen door.

Dinner began with polite chatter. I ate quietly.

“Elara,” my grandfather said suddenly. “How is university? You should be close to finishing by now.”

My fork slipped from my hand.

“University?” I echoed.

Karen stiffened. Bella froze.

“I’m not in school,” I said, my voice shaking. “I had to leave. I couldn’t afford it.”

Silence slammed into the room.

“What do you mean?” my grandfather asked slowly. “I’ve been sending you $1,500 every month for five years. Ninety thousand dollars.”

I stared at him. “I’ve never seen any of it. I thought… I thought you forgot about me.”

Karen stood abruptly. “Arthur, she’s lying. She’s irresponsible. She wasted it.”