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The first hint was almost comical. Mom was handing out gifts from the market. Sarah and Aunt Jane got vibrant scarves. David got a new football jersey. My turn came. Mom's hand hovered over a small, oddly wrapped package.
"Oh, Emma," she said, dismissively. "It's… practical. The last one."
Inside was a single, industrial-looking scrubbing brush. Sarah snickered. David grinned. "Looks like you drew the short straw, Emma!" Mom just offered a weak smile and moved on. It was small, but it stung.
The suspense built that evening. Dad, usually a man of few words, gathered us. He held a worn, brown envelope. "Something about… the family legacy," he said, his gaze lingering on Sarah and David. 0 reply
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He read from a document: a small inheritance from a distant relative – a piece of valuable land. My heart fluttered. This was unexpected.
Then came the twist. "So," Dad concluded, folding the document, "we've decided Sarah and David will manage this. They have the… business acumen."
Silence. I stared. Sarah nodded. David looked surprisingly responsible. It was a done deal I was only just hearing about.
"What about me, Dad?" I whispered.
Dad looked at me, pity mixed with relief. "Emma, you… you've always been different. This wouldn't suit you."
"Different?" I echoed.
Sarah chimed in, too sweetly. "You're the artistic one, dear. Not practical for these matters."
David, ever blunt, added, "Yeah, you're into books and paints. Not this." 0 reply
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