The plane had barely begun moving when the engines suddenly quieted, the brakes engaged, and the captain emerged from the cockpit asking for me by name. Just minutes earlier, my stepmother, Patricia, had been laughing about my economy-class seat while she enjoyed first class with my father and stepbrother, Mason. We were traveling from New York to Aspen for Mason’s extravagant engagement celebration. At the airport, Patricia had forced me to carry her expensive handbags and several suitcases, reminding me that her purse cost more than my apartment. When she handed me a boarding pass for seat 31B, she smiled and said first class was reserved for people who contributed something to the family. My father remained silent, as he had throughout the years since my mother passed away. I quietly took my seat, unaware that the next few minutes would change everything.
A woman sitting beside me noticed my trembling hands and offered a tissue. I explained that family problems had followed me onto the airplane. After my mother's passing, Patricia had gradually pushed me out of family gatherings, convinced my father to change his estate arrangements, and portrayed Mason as the successful child while treating me like a disappointment.
