The delivery room was full of activity as the medical staff worked closely together in bringing a new life to the world.
Every staff in the room could feel the pressure increasing due to the patient who was constantly screaming.
Dr. Isaac, the surgeon assigned to the patient, Sarah, stood quietly at the end of the bed.
He watched as both midwives helped Sarah through each contraction.
While it might have looked like he wasn't doing anything, he was actually ready to step in the moment something went wrong.
The pressure in the room continued to increase with each contraction that occured.
"Sarah, its time to push!" One of the midwives gave words of encouragement while the other kept an eye on the baby's heart rate.
Then, with a final deep breath, Sarah bore down, her face contorting in effort.
The room fell silent, except for the sound of the machine monitoring the baby's heartbeat and Sarah's labored breathing.
Suddenly, a tiny head popped out, followed by a pair of small shoulders.
Dr. Isaac finally felt the need to step in as he guided the baby out, and with one final push, the newborn slid into the world.
Dr. Isaac's eyes widened as he held up the squirming infant for all to see. "It's a boy!" He exclaimed.
The room erupted in sighs fueled with joy and relief as the medical team worked to suction and stimulate the baby.
The midwives gently wrapped him up in clothes before handing him to Sarah who immediately cradled him close, tears of joy streaming down her face.
"Hello, little one," she whispered softly, gazing into her baby's eyes for the first time.
Thr baby responded with a loud, cute cry, beads of transparent tiny tears streaming down his face.
One of the midwives ran out of the labor room, returning moments later with a man in his mid-thirties.
He wore an expensive black luster suit, had jet-black hair, and an athletic build that made it look as though he was still in his twenties.
"I want believe it—" his eyes widened as he gaze fell on the mother-son pair. "It really is a boy this time."
"Honey! We have our first son!" Sarah said, her voice trembling with emotion.
Hearing his wife's words, his initial expression of shock transitioned to one of pure joy as he released a wife smile.
He turned and focused his gaze to where Dr. Isaac stood quietly, observing the mother and son with a loght smile on his face.
"Thank you Dr. Isaac... for everything—" He said, "without you, this operation wouldn't have been successful, so thank you."
"Mr. Jones," Dr. Isaac exclaimed, appearing flustered by the words of praise. "Please, this humble servant is just happy to have seen the birth of the next Smith family heir. I'm sure he will surpass his father in countless achievements."
Jones smiler softly. "I really do hope so..."
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Years later, the once-celebrated doctor now begged on the streets.
The very man he praised, Jones Smith, had ruined him. All because of the son born that day—Alex Smith.
Alex was born into the most powerful and affluent family in the world—the Smiths. A lineage of brilliance and excellence.
Every child born into that family was a prodigy. Whether it was sports, music, business, art—you name it. The Smith bloodline was synonymous with greatness.
But Alex? He was different.
From a young age, it was clear that Alex lacked what the Smith family revered above all—talent.
And his father despised him for that.
At six, he failed his entrance IQ test to the Royal Crest Academy—twice.
His father, Jones, nearly had a stroke in the family courtyard when the results were hand-delivered by the academy's headmaster.
"You're telling me… my son scored what—fifty-seven?" Jones's voice came out dangerously calm making the headmaster shudder.
"Fifty-two, sir," the headmaster corrected. "Out of a hundred."
Jones stood there for a moment, silent. Then he turned to Sarah, his wife. "Is there something you want to tell me, Sarah? Because my son—my blood—cannot be this... dumb." He said, putting more stress on the dumb part.
Sarah's eyes blazed. "Jones, he is your son! Don't you dare question that again!"
Alex, stood at the door, silently observing what was happening while cuddling his teddy bear, "Captain Genius," who, ironically, was smarter than he was.
From that day on, the distance between Jones and Alex widened. His father refused to attend school functions. He skipped birthdays.
He replaced affection with cold nods, and every word he spoke to Alex felt like a calculated jab.
But Sarah—she never changed.
She always had a smile for her son, a hug ready, no matter how bad the report card looked.
"You don't need to be a genius, Alex," she would say, running her fingers through his messy black hair. "You just need to be kind. That's enough for me."
And his sisters? Oh, his sisters were insane, in the best possible way.
There was Alyssa, the oldest. At 17, she was already a global chess champion and fluent in five languages. But she'd throw away a gold medal if anyone dared insult her little brother.
"Who said he's dumb?" she snapped once at a teacher's conference, slamming her school tablet on the desk. "Say that again. I'll show you how dumb I can get."
Then there was Sophie, the middle child. Twelve years old, music prodigy, once called "Mozart's spiritual twin" in Forbes. But when Alex failed his piano class, she had other plans.
She threw a mini-concert in the school cafeteria titled "This Is My Brother, and I'll Break Your Speakers if You Laugh at Him."
Alex cried happy tears. Though she was proud of what she had done, she still ended up being suspended. Did it matter though, no, because her brother was happy.
And lastly, the youngest—Lily, who was somehow eight but already outsmarting their family accountant.
She loved to sneak cookies to Alex late at night and say, "Don't worry, Alex. Even if they don't like you, I'll buy you a planet when I grow up."
But still, despite all this love, the weight of failure never left Alex. At family dinners, he was the ghost at the table he was seen, but never heard.
Jones sat at the head, flanked by his brilliant daughters, pride gleaming in his eyes… until they landed on Alex. Then, just silence. Cold judgment.
One evening, Alex built up the courage to ask, "Dad… are you proud of me?"
Jones didn't even look up from his wine. "What for?"
Those two words felt like a full grown bear had punched him in the chest. That was how bad it stung.
Sarah's fork clattered onto her plate.
"You know what, Jones?" she snapped. "You don't get to do this. He is your son. He may not have talent in what you want, but he has a heart. And he still tries, every single day."
Alyssa stood too. "If he's a disappointment, then we all are. Because we're a family. We either shine together or fall together."
Jones looked at them all and said nothing.
And Alex, sitting quietly, whispered only loud enough for himself to hear:
"Maybe I really was born just to be the mistake of the family… or perhaps, just born into the wrong family."
His heart was shattered that night, the true reality of his situation really hit him. He truly was a failure.
And yet, Alex was still able to find the warmth of his mother's love while in her arms, the chaos of his sister's love and the peace in the quiet corners of the house that they couldn't lock him out of.
He didn't hate his life—well, not yet at least.
Not until that certain incident unfolded.
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