I’m Nick, the middle child between two sisters—Brit, the oldest, and Mia, the youngest. Mia was our parents’ “miracle baby,” the center of their world. Brit? She was often overlooked.
As kids, the favoritism was clear. Mia got a cake for a participation trophy; Brit got ignored for an A+. Brit loved art but was told supplies were too expensive—until Mia showed interest and got a full set.
One day, Brit asked me, “Am I invisible?” I was ten. I just hugged her as she cried.
In our teens, Mia’s cruelty escalated—stealing Brit’s crush, cutting her hair in her sleep. Our parents dismissed it all as “harmless fun.” Mia even stole Brit’s college boyfriend. That was Brit’s breaking point. She cut ties, rebuilt her life, and found love with Pit, a man who truly cherished her.
Years later, pregnant and hopeful, Brit agreed to a family dinner. It started civil. Then Mia struck: a cruel toast reminding everyone she had married Brit’s ex.
Before anyone could react, our cousin Helen stood to toast Brit, praising her kindness and support. One by one, the family followed—sharing stories of Brit’s quiet strength and endless generosity. For the first time, everyone saw her.
Pit called out Mia’s manipulation, revealing even more—how she’d tried to flirt with him too. He spoke the truth: Brit built people up; Mia tore them down.
Mia erupted, expecting her usual defense. But none came. She stormed out—alone.
Brit, emotional but smiling, whispered, “I finally understand… I was never the problem.” As the baby kicked, surrounded by love, she wasn’t invisible anymore.
And for the first time, the family truly saw her.