There’s a particular kind of damage you can’t photograph. The kind that doesn’t show up on red carpets or mugshots. It creeps into the corners of lives — famous or not — and leaves a residue that’s hard to clean. It’s called inherited trauma, and trauma doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it rides in on war or poverty, but sometimes it’s hand-delivered by your mother or father, wrapped in gaslighting, manipulation, and control. Sometimes it whispers through generations, hiding behind family photos and holiday dinners, dressed up as duty, silence, or shame.  Welcome to the world of narcissistic parents, where you’re not a child — you’re an accessory. A trophy. Or worse, competition. For some, the roles are obvious: the golden child, the scapegoat. For others, the trauma is subtle, shapeshifting, dressed in matching outfits and forced smiles. The wound is real even when the audience claps.  Narcissistic parents don’t raise children. They raise extensions of themselves...