PARTIALITY

People sometimes ask if I regret saying all of that, in front of both families, on the night of my own brother’s engagement.

I think about it, and the answer is: no.

My only regret is staying silent for as long as I did.

Some families divide their love evenly.

Others treat love like an investment — giving more to the child they’ve decided “needs it more,” while the child who’s strong, who endures well, who becomes independent early, gets written off as someone who doesn’t need love, doesn’t need to be seen, doesn’t need to be thanked.

I used to believe that if I just tried hard enough, sacrificed enough, one day I’d be recognized fairly.

But the truth is, my patience never made my family love me more — it only taught them to see those sacrifices as a given.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned isn’t how to “expose” someone.

It’s this: sometimes, loving yourself enough to stop at the right moment matters far more than proving you’re worthy to anyone else.

I don’t know what will become of my family.

But I know that for the first time in twenty-eight years, standing in this modern city of Frankfurt, I’m living my own life — not the life of “the eldest daughter,” not the life of the one who always has to give way — but the life of Anna Fischer, a woman finally strong enough to decide her own worth.

— The End —