But I’m done offering myself up. I’m done mistaking survival for affection. And I’m done pretending that being needed is the same thing as being loved.
“Do you know how many of my birthdays you missed?” I ask, hating the way my voice shakes at the end. I don’t want to cry, not now, not here. But the tears are already building, thick at the back of my throat, stinging at the corners of my eyes.
Naomi goes still. Sam doesn’t say anything.
They just gawk at me in disbelief and horror.
And the worst part is, I know they know. They remember. Maybe not the exact number, but they remember missing them. They remember not being there.
“Do you know what I did for them?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Nothing. No one ever asked.
“I bought my own candles,” I say through a broken breath. “I bought my own cake. I sang by myself.”
Naomi’s lip trembles.
Sam looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time.
But I keep going, because no one stopped for me whenIneeded it. So, I’m not stopping now.
“I sat in my room in the dark while you were downstairs celebrating Mason. Or pretending I didn’t exist. I lit the candles and waited a few seconds, just in case—just in case someone walked in. You never did.”
I laugh. It’s not funny. It sounds like choking. “I waited until the wax dripped down the sides, and then I made a wish I knew wouldn’t come true. That maybe next year would be different. That maybe someone would care.”
My fists clench at my sides. My nails dig into my palms.
“But no one ever came. Not once. Notonetime.”
I look at them—really look at them. At their shock, their tears, the guilt pouring off them now in waves. And I bite my lip hard, hard enough to stop the sob clawing its way up. I won’t fall apart in front of them. I won’t.I won’t.
“I was so easy to forget,” I whisper. “So easy to ignore. I was right there. I didn’t ask for much. I didn’tneedmuch. Just for someone to see me.”
Naomi opens her mouth, probably to say sorry again, but I raise a hand.
“I don’t want another apology. I want you to understand how it was to grow up thinking love was something you had toearn. That if I just gave enough, did enough, stayed quiet enough, maybe someone would finally love me back.”
I take a shaky breath.
“I gave everything I had to you. Both of you. All the time. I listened when no one listened to me. I cleaned up after your messes, protected you, took the blame, and for what? You never even looked at me long enough to see what you were doing.”
They’re both crying now, slowly losing their composure in front of me. But I don’t stop. Don’t even consider that option.
“I made myself small so you could feel bigger. I made myself needed so I wouldn’t be left behind. And I was still left anyway.”
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my jacket, swallowing hard.
“You didn’t just forget my birthdays. You forgotme,” I say, the words burning their way out as I lift my gaze to them slowly. I meet their eyes with the kind of pain that’s been sitting in my chest for seventeen years. “And then youblamedme.”
And that’s it. The truth. Ugly and heavy and finally out in the open.
And they don’t deny it. Because theycan’t.
***
I don’t say another word. Not to Sam. Not to Naomi. I turn and walk away—up the stairs, fast, before they can follow. Before I lose the nerve.
I see the door to my bedroom. Ignore it. And head for the door next to it—the door to my mother’s room. As always, her back is faced toward me and as always, the curtains are still drawn. The sunlight presses faintly through the fabric, but it can’t break through. It never does.
