My cousin waved her off with a dismissive scoff. "Born to be useless," he sneered, glancing briefly at Rowan with contempt. "Look at him—pathetic, clumsy, good-for-nothing. He's not even half as good as Nathan. I'm already being merciful by not beating him to death."
Rowan winced slightly at his words but stayed silent, his head bowed.
Satisfied, my cousin turned back to Nathan, his face transforming once again into a mask of affection. "Nathan, I ordered your favorite Ultraman cake. Tomorrow, I'll bring it over for your birthday."
"Thank you, Uncle," Nathan responded politely, his voice calm and composed, as though he had long grown used to my cousin's blatant favoritism.
Beside Nathan, Rowan hesitated, fidgeting nervously. His thin fingers clutched the frayed edges of his shirt as he summoned the courage to speak. "Dad," he stammered, "tomorrow is my birthday too. Could you… could you get me a new pair of shoes?"
His words hung in the air, fragile and hopeful.