That’s when I realized they weren’t sorry for what they did.
They were sorry I’d made it visible.
That evening, Melissa called, not to apologize, to scold.
“Felix, seriously,” she said, her voice dripping with that fake concern she uses when she’s talking to someone she thinks is beneath her. “You’re making Mom cry. You know she’s sensitive.”
“Is that before or after she laughed at my son’s toy?” I asked.
“Oh, come on. She didn’t mean anything by it. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. It’s just gifts.”
“Then why are you so upset?”
She hesitated.
“Because you’re humiliating our family.”
There it was.
Not hurting the family.
Humiliating them.
“I didn’t humiliate anyone,” I said. “They did that themselves.”
She sighed dramatically.
“You always do this, Felix. Always the victim. You think the world owes you something because you didn’t get the same things we did. Maybe if you had kids sooner or a wife who could contribute, Mom and Dad wouldn’t feel so bad for Melissa’s kids.”
