The weight of my words seemed to cleanse the air of its earlier mockery, replacing it with a sense of awe and, dare I say, a touch of admiration. I glanced at the photo display, noticing the glaring absence of my own milestones, and realized I no longer needed that external validation. I had created my own legacy, one that didn’t rely on the approval of those who had overlooked me for so long.

Kalista remained silent, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. I offered her a small, genuine smile—a gesture of peace, rather than victory. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am,” I said softly, “and for unknowingly pushing me to carve my own path.”

As the evening went on, the party resumed, albeit with a more subdued energy. My family approached me cautiously, their congratulations tinged with an undercurrent of regret for not recognizing my achievements sooner. For the first time, I felt seen—not as the “useless” sister, but as someone who had quietly, steadily, transformed her world.

And as I left the party that night, I knew that the true celebration had just begun. Not just for me, but for the version of myself that had finally emerged from the shadows, ready to shine on her own terms.