I'm an Outsider in My Own Home

My family had always been strict with their rules, and the weekly family long-table dinner was the most direct expression of that.

Papa always sat at the head of the table, the seat that symbolized absolute dominion. On either side, arranged in order were Mamma, Fabio, Luca, and the utterly spoiled Francesca.

Fido sat on the handwoven rug at Fabio's feet, Neve rested on a velvet-cushioned chair, and the spot next to Francesca was Pico's exclusive high chair.

Even the three pets had their own seats of honor at the table, as Mamma said this helped them integrate into the family.

Meanwhile, I—the eldest daughter—had to huddle on a folding chair shoved at the very end. The seat was so far from the dishes that I usually had to half-stand like a fool, stretching my arm out as far as it'd go.

The humiliation from the party had lodged in my heart like a thorn.

Today, for the first time ever, I felt a flicker of rebellious defiance.

Half an hour before dinner, I dragged the folding chair right next to Francesca and Pico's designated spots. I wanted to prove that I couldn't possibly be worth less than a rat.

As dusk fell, my family entered the dining room one by one.

Papa glanced coldly at me, then walked straight to the head of the table without saying anything.

Mamma furrowed her brow deeply, her gaze like a blade.

"Valentina Coppola, what are you doing sitting here? Go back to your place."

Clutching the hem of my clothes, I said quietly, "Mamma, that spot is too far from the food. I want to change seats—"

"That's Pico's place," she cut me off coldly. "It's used to sitting here."

What? A rat was used to the spot, so I had to give way?

I gripped the armrest. "Can't we just put Pico a little further away?"

The words had barely left my mouth when Francesca screeched, "Are you out of your mind? Pico will be terrified if it can't see me!"

Luca, slicing the steak on his plate, said without even looking up, "You're being really annoying, making such a fuss over a seat."

Fabio let out a cold snort. "If you still want to eat at this table, get back to your original spot right now."

Finally, Papa set down his wine glass and cast an icy look at me.

"Do as your Mamma says."

Five people with five pronouncements. No one thought it absurd for a rat to be at the table, nor did they see anything wrong with me being exiled to that distant corner.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and wordlessly dragged my chair back to the cold, shadowy edge.

At the table, the discussion ranged from the company Fabio had just acquired, Luca's plan to win gold at next month's competition abroad, and Francesca's upcoming fan meet-and-greet, to some secrets of the underworld.

No one spared me a glance.

In front of me was a plate of cold, hard spaghetti. The nearest dish was well beyond my reach.

I turned my head and looked pleadingly at the household staff standing by in attendance, signaling her with my eyes to help me.

But she simply pretended not to have seen anything, turning instead to pick up a plate of fruit, vegetables, and rodent feed. She then approached respectfully to feed Pico.

Even the household staff knew exactly who the lowest rung in the family was—someone who could be slighted at will.

I lowered my head and gave up reaching for the food. I simply ate my spaghetti in silence, tasting the salt of my tears in every bite.

Dinner ended amidst a facade of a "harmonious and cheerful" atmosphere.

As Mamma rose, she swept her gaze over me and casually tossed out a command.

"Don't forget to go to the front hall and sort out the packages that arrived. Bring up Pico's cage accessories, Fido's custom raw meat and bones, and Neve's canned cat food."

I nodded numbly.

Late at night, I carried the heavy boxes into the lounge area on the second floor.

On the table lay the new custom family portrait Mamma had commissioned.

I stopped and went over to take a look.

There were Papa, Mamma, Fabio, Luca, Francesca, Fido, Neve, and Pico.

Five people and three pets, yet not a single trace of me.

I calmly withdrew my gaze, then stuffed the pet supplies into their respective storage boxes.

Finally, I walked down the narrow hallway back to my room. This place saw no sunlight year-round and didn't even have a decent bathroom.

After locking the door, I lay down on the creaking folding bed and closed my eyes.

I didn't say a word, because I knew better than anyone that even if I spoke up, no one in this family would care.