I Let My Family Think I Was Antisocial—While Building A Social Network With 400M Active Users

Hi, I'm Diana. Three days ago, my mother cornered me at her charity gala and whispered that I was an embarrassment to the Carter name. She said it with a smile, the way she always does, so no one else could tell she was cutting me down. My sister stood beside her, nodding in agreement, both of them looking at me like I was a stain they couldn't scrub out. What they didn't know was that in seventy-two hours, the tech acquisition I'd been working on for four years would go public, and my name would be attached to a platform with four hundred million active users.

By the time the press release hit, they weren't just shocked. They were scrambling to rewrite history, and I had every receipt to prove they were lying. Before we jump back in, tell us where you're tuning in from, and if this story touches you, make sure you're subscribed, because tomorrow, I've saved something extra special for you! The September rain came down in sheets as I pulled into the circular driveway of my parents' estate on Mercer Island. The kind of rain that makes Seattle feel like it's wrapped in gray wool, heavy and oppressive.

I turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, watching the wipers drag water across the windshield in slow, rhythmic strokes. The house loomed ahead, all stone and glass and perfectly manicured hedges, the kind of place that appeared in architectural magazines with captions about modern luxury and timeless elegance. I'd grown up here, but it had never felt like home. I checked my phone one last time before heading inside.

Three unread messages from my development team, two investor updates I'd review later tonight, and a calendar reminder that made my stomach twist. Carter Family Gala, seven o'clock. I'd been dreading this for weeks, but there was no getting out of it. My mother had made that abundantly clear during our last phone call, the one where she'd used her particular brand of guilt disguised as concern to ensure my attendance. We haven't seen you in months, Diana. People are starting to ask questions.

You know how that looks. I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and made a run for the front door, my flats splashing through puddles I couldn't avoid. The door swung open before I could reach for the handle, and there stood Natalie, my older sister, dressed in a charcoal blazer and cream blouse that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her makeup was flawless, the kind of polished perfection she'd mastered years ago.

She looked me up and down with the faint disappointment she'd been perfecting since we were teenagers. You're wet, she said, as if I hadn't noticed. It's raining, I replied, stepping past her into the marble foyer. She closed the door behind me with a soft click. Mom's in the sitting room.