I'm an Outsider in My Own Home

We have a family group chat meant for the core members only. It's named "the Coppola family".

The ones in the group are my father, my mother, my oldest brother, Fabio Coppola; my second brother, Luca Coppola, and my little sister, Francesca Coppola.

Oh, that's not all. Fabio's bloodhound, Fido; Luca's ragdoll, Neve; and Francesca's fancy rat, Pico, are members of the group chat too.

I'm the only one who's not included in that group.

There's once when I ask Francesca, "Can you add me into the group?"

She's in the middle of feeding Pico at that time. Without bothering to glance at me, she replies, "That group is meant for insiders only. Wouldn't you feel awkward if you were to join the group, Valentina?"

I just look at Pico, who keeps screeching in Francesca's arms. It has a special nickname and the right to speak up in the family group.

To think that I, the Coppolas' biological daughter, am nothing compared to a fancy rat.

In the Coppola family, every kid but me was a genius.

Fabio Coppola was intellectually gifted, able to ace any exam with ease. In elementary school, he developed a game that went viral online and now controlled the family's vast financial empire.

Luca Coppola was exceptionally talented in sports. No matter the event, he could take home gold. In the future, he would take over the family's Soldato training.

As for Francesca Coppola, she could sing and dance beautifully and was a hugely popular influencer adored by fans. Everyone knew our family spoiled her.

Even Pico, the family's pet rat, had a dedicated bodyguard watching over it around the clock.

I was the only invisible person in the family, the one with no presence whatsoever.

Last weekend, my family held a party at our own club.

Francesca was in a booth chatting with Greta Grasso, a daughter from a family we do business with.

Greta was brimming with curiosity and admiration for everything about my family and kept pressing Francesca for details about our household.

Francesca enthusiastically took out her phone and scrolled through her photo album, introducing Papa, Mamma, Fabio, Luca, and herself one by one. Then, she showed off Fido, Neve, and Pico.

Eight photos, each clearly introduced, with me being the only one missing.

Greta was a bit puzzled. "Wait, how come I've heard you actually have another sister?"

Francesca lifted her glass and slowly took a sip. Then, she replied dismissively, "Oh, she doesn't count as family."

I was standing less than five feet away in the shadows, holding the drink I was about to deliver to Francesca.

I never imagined that the woman I'd called my sister for 20 years could so casually erase my existence in front of an outsider.

That night, Francesca's remark quickly spread among the guests.

People's glances toward me started to turn strange.

Finally, someone cautiously approached Papa for confirmation.

With a cigar between his fingers, Papa replied without even looking up, "It's just a joke between the girls. There's no need to read too much into it."

A joke, huh?

He neither vindicated me nor reprimanded Francesca for her loose tongue. With one casual sentence, he thoroughly erased my entire identity and dignity.