Growing up, I was always in Marcus’s shadow. He was the golden child—charismatic, athletic, president of everything. I was quiet and bookish, spending Friday nights in the library instead of at football games.
Dad was a successful pharmaceutical sales rep who valued personality and presence. Marcus had both. I had neither.
“Emma’s fine,” Mom would tell relatives at gatherings. “She studies a lot. Gets good grades.”
Marcus got recruited by three Division I schools.
Dad would interrupt, clapping my brother on the shoulder. “Full ride scholarships. That’s real success.”
When I got into Johns Hopkins for pre-med, Dad barely looked up from his tablet.
