At Graduation, My Parents – Who Paid for My Sister’s Entire College But Refused to Pay for Mine – Turned Pale When…

The day of the award ceremony arrived. I arrived at the university early, put on my only more or less formal dress: modest, classic cut, black with discreet accessories. The guys, the other laureates, were bustling around. We were all a little nervous.

We were led into the hall where the ceremony was to take place. They explained that each name would be announced, the director of the university would recount the short achievements, and present the award. We all took our places in the front rows. The hall filled with guests, and I noticed that Hannah was sitting next to her parents.

My sister was wearing an expensive dress with a chic handbag on her lap. Mom and Dad looked a little confused, as if they themselves did not understand what they were doing in such a hall. I tried not to meet their eyes so as not to be distracted. I was ready for the most important moment in my life.

Finally, the ceremony began. The host announced one laureate after another. Vivid biographies were heard. Someone created a program for optimizing tax accounting, someone distinguished himself with student projects at the international level. I applauded everyone, trying to contain my excitement.

And then it was my turn. The rector stood up and said: “The next student, ladies and gentlemen, is an example of resilience, discipline, and independence. Without financial support from her family, she went from being a cleaner and a librarian to being one of the best in her class. Her teachers call her a person of iron will and determination. Meet Rachel Moore.”

The audience burst into applause, and I heard several people stand up. I stood up from my seat, feeling a wave of heat spreading through my body. I was walking toward the stage, and at that moment I turned to the audience and saw my parents’ faces.

Mom was sitting with a cold expression, and I didn’t see the usual pride in her eyes. Dad seemed surprised, as if he hadn’t expected everything to be so serious. Hannah looked at me with bewilderment, mixed, as it seemed to me, with some envy. And then I realized they really were seeing me as if for the first time.

I went up on stage. The rector shook my hand, presented me with an award, and briefly congratulated me. Then we took a photo, and I returned to my seat to the general lively jubilation. I felt as if fate had finally repaid me for all those years when I was ignored.

After the ceremony, not only Professor Mclofflin but also other professors and representatives of large companies approached me. They congratulated me, handed me business cards, and asked if I was interested in an internship at their companies. I smiled and quietly rejoiced. Here it is: the reward for hard work.

And suddenly I saw the rector, who also came up to me and whispered in my ear: “You have proven that family is not always the one who helps. Sometimes family is yourself. Don’t forget that. Now all doors are open for you.” I nodded.

And then I noticed my parents and Hannah walking towards me. I saw them, sighed, and mentally prepared myself for another cold conversation. “Rachel,” Mom said, trying to smile, “congratulations, you’re great, I guess. But why didn’t you tell me it was that serious?” “Have you ever listened?” I answered simply.

I thought there was little aggression in my words, more weariness and release from years of expectation. Mom frowned, and Dad started to say something. “We always believed that you were capable of so many things, but we didn’t know that you needed help. We thought you could handle it yourself.” “You never asked if I needed help,” I said. “It suited you to think that Rachel can do anything, but you know, sometimes I wanted someone to support me too.”

Mom looked at Hannah, confused. She stood silently, looking from me to my parents. Then Hannah tried to interject: “Listen, Rachel, I didn’t know you were applying for this scholarship. I thought your college was paid for too.” “Really?” I looked into her eyes. “Have you ever wondered how I pay for my studies and rent? Has it ever occurred to you that you and I live different lives?”

Hannah made a helpless gesture. “I guess I was too busy with my own life.” “Exactly, and you were all fine with it. However, I don’t want to sort things out now. I don’t need your approval anymore.” I turned my back to them.

You know, usually in such scenes in books, the main character starts crying, but I was calmer than ever. So many emotions were boiling inside me, but they were not about my family, they were about me. It suddenly became clear to me: this is the moment when I finally stopped trying to achieve their love, stopped cherishing this childhood dream: someday they will see how good I am.

That evening the university held a small reception in honor of the awardees. Investors, teachers, students, and some parents came. Mine stayed too. I only crossed paths with them by chance at the refreshment table.

One of the future employers, a representative of a large auditing firm, came up and said: “Miss Moore, we’d like to discuss a possible job offer. We’re impressed with your accomplishments and references. Can you come to our table?”

I saw my family at the other end of the room. Mom, Dad, and Hannah were standing there, embarrassed, looking in my direction, but not daring to approach. And I went to the table with investors, and we began to talk animatedly about the future. I might be offered a starting position as a junior auditor in the New York office. That was my goal: to break into a big city, into a cool office, and engage in real audit practice.

The next day there was a scholarship dinner for the recipients, and my parents decided to attend. At dinner, my mother tried to start a conversation. “Rachel, we know we may not have been the most thoughtful parents, but we really do love you and Hannah equally. Maybe we just haven’t had our priorities straight.” “It’s not about love, Mom. It’s about how I’ve always felt like I had to earn your praise while Hannah always got it by default. I tried and I tried, but you didn’t see it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m no longer used to asking.”