James

At fourteen, James understood his role clearly: invisible worker. Every morning, he woke before the house stirred. Breakfast for the family prepared. Floors scrubbed. Dishes washed. Laundry folded. Trash out. Rooms cleaned. Orders executed. Complaints ignored. Praise rare and mechanical. His younger siblings received the exact opposite treatment. His sister got gadgets, toys, and leniency. His brother got help when he complained. They called him responsible, reliable, mature—but never rewarded him. No allowance, no electronics, no acknowledgment beyond a nod. Any slip meant repetition. Any complaint was framed as laziness. James was told this was “for his own good,” that hardship built character. But the truth was clear: he existed to support them. To feed, clean, serve, and anticipate needs before they were voiced. By night, exhausted, he lay awake while his sister played games she didn’t earn. Every day reinforced one truth: his effort was expected, her comfort was celebrated. Love in his house was conditional—and his was invisible.