Even after the innovation award. Even after the industry mentors. Even after the patent filings. Even after my prototype had flagged a security vulnerability during a university showcase that made three visiting executives stop and ask for a second demo. To them, I was still the quieter daughter with the laptop. The one whose work could be reduced by adding the word little in front of it.
Kate clicked her tongue and leaned back in her chair. “Come on, Liv. It’s not like you’re doing anything serious with them. I have actual business experience.”
The business experience in question had been a fashion app that burned through two hundred thousand dollars of our parents’ money in six months and died before its second rebrand. Before that, there had been a subscription box for “elevated wellness essentials,” which turned out to be candles and tea packets in minimalist packaging. Before that, a social media strategy firm she launched because a friend told her she had good instincts. Every collapse became a family emergency. Every emergency came with more money, more comforting, more explanations about how visionaries sometimes needed support.
When I was fifteen and asked for a refurbished desktop that could run the software I needed, my father told me to prove I was serious first.
When Kate was twenty-two and wanted seed money for her first venture, he called it believing in his daughter.
