My Oscar dad and Grammy mom saw me as an ugly, unwanted daughter, called me Toad, and sent me to live with Grandma Maggie. 18 years later, I got into Harvard and returned home wearing a mask. Dad frowned and asked if I was hiding my ugly face. Mom laughed, saying I'd look even worse next to pretty Sienna. Sienna took my hand, calling beauty a burden and me blessed to be ugly. My hand paused. Grandma wrote every month—I got prettier daily, boys flocked around me, and she sent them pictures. My parents never opened a single one and never knew what I had become.