I cried until my body felt hollow like I'd drained every tear. Eventually, sleep sneaked in like a thief, taking my sadness away for the night.

Morning came too fast; a voice shook me from whatever dreamless sleep I had left. "Miss, it's time for school, the first day."

It was the maid's voice, not Mom's. Normally, it was Mom waking me up, so I blinked. I mumbled, "Yeah, I'm up," and dragged myself out of bed.

I went through my morning routine on autopilot—shower, brush my teeth, throw on whatever clothes I could find—before heading downstairs.

When I reached the kitchen, my stomach dropped.

Mom was feeding Ginny, spoon by spoon, like she was still a toddler.

It wasn't just that. Ginny was sitting in my seat, all snug like she'd been there forever.

Charlie sat beside her, his arm casually around the back of her chair. "Eat up. You're too skinny," he said, ruffling her hair like she was his actual sister.

They didn't even look up when I walked in.

"Morning," Mom said, her tone so casual I felt ignored.

Charlie didn't say anything. He just gave me a cold glance before turning away as if my presence had ruined the atmosphere.

I lingered at the edge of the room. But my stomach grumbled; I hadn't eaten anything since last night.

The grumbling felt like a storm was brewing inside me, making breathing hard as I stepped forward.

"That's… my seat," I said quietly, my voice barely making it past the lump in my throat.

Ginny stared up at me with those huge, watery eyes like I'd just yelled at her or something. She shrank back, clutching her spoon like it would save her.

Charlie quickly straightened up, his expression hardening. "She's sitting here. Let her stay."

I swallowed, feeling the room close in around me. "But… that's always been my seat…"

Ginny flinched. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I'll move." She tried to stand, but her foot caught on the chair leg, sending her crashing to the floor.

"Ginny!" Mom shot out of her chair, rushing to pick her up.

And then Mom turned to me, her eyes full of blame. "Betty, what's the matter with you? It's just a chair! Does it really matter where you sit?"

I couldn't even answer. My throat was tight, my head spinning.

It wasn't just the chair. It was everything. But no one seemed to get it.

Before I knew it, Charlie shoved me to the floor.

"Ouch!" I cried. The cold tile stung my knees and elbow. But unlike Ginny, no one came to help me.

Charlie glared down at me like I deserved it. "Get up, you fat pig!"

I looked at Mom, silently begging her to say something—to stop Charlie from calling me names and scold him for pushing me.

But she was silent. She just held Ginny close, her expression unreadable.

The tears I'd held back for so long finally pushed them to the surface.

Why was it always me?! Why was I always the problem?

For the first time, I walked to school alone. No Mom holding my hand, no comforting words to help me manage the anxiety bubbling up inside.

It felt like the start of something bad, but I kept pushing forward. Maybe it was better than going back home, I thought.

When I finally got to class, I dropped into my seat, trying to blend in with the background.

But before I could even settle in, a sharp pain shot through the back of my head.

I whipped around, and there he was—a boy, grinning like he'd just pulled off the prank of the century. His nameplate read: [Angus Whitman.]

His hand still raised, he balled up another piece of paper and flicked it right at me.

The crumpled ball hit me square in the nose and dropped to the floor.

I didn't flinch. I just stared at him, my mind racing. First day of school, and this guy had the guts to pull this?

"What are you staring at, ugly freak?" He sneered like he was taunting me.

My hands curled into tight fists. Every muscle in my body wanted to lunge at him, to show him I didn't deserve another crap like that.

But before I could move, a familiar voice rang out across the room. "Betty! What the hell are you gonna do, huh?!"

Charlie.

I looked up, my heart sinking.

There he was, standing in the doorway with Ginny by his side, playing the protective brother.

The boy who'd thrown the paper ran over to my brother, still grinning like the jerk he was. "Dude, I just don't get it. Why's your sister so ugly? If I were you, I'd be embarrassed to be seen with her."

This was it. Charlie was going to defend me. He had to, right?

I waited for him to knock the punk out, to put him in his place.

But instead, my brother just glanced at me with a look—one that felt like embarrassment, maybe even disgust.

"Betty, Angus is right," Charlie said, his voice flat. "You always fight people. Just… stop it."

I froze, disbelief washing over me. My fists loosened as the fight drained out of me.

I had been ready for Charlie to stand up for me, to have my back like brothers are supposed to. But all I got was this huge, aching disappointment.

"Charlie…" I whispered, but he didn't glance in my direction like he didn't hear me.

Angus, seeing an opportunity, grinned wider and then turned to Ginny. "Whoa, dude! Who's that pretty girl?"

Ginny blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She shot him this shy smile that made my chest tighten with jealousy.

Charlie, beaming with pride, slung an arm around her shoulders. "Well, this is my other sister, Ginny!"

Angus looked Ginny up and down. "Yeah, no doubt about that. She's way better than that freak over there!" He nodded toward me, laughing.

Before I knew it, a group of boys had crowded around Ginny, eager for her attention.

Charlie barely reacted, but when he did, it wasn't to defend me.

"Hey, hey, hey, back off! Stay away from my sister!" he barked, but there was no anger—just a proud smirk as he looked at Ginny.

I sat there, sinking deeper into my seat as the humiliation burned my face.

My brother stood there like a hero—but not for me.

Before I could stop myself, I shoved my chair back and stormed out of the classroom. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't stop. I didn't know where I was going.

All I knew was I couldn't bear it anymore.

That boy named Angus.

And Charlie.

Especially Ginny!

It didn't take long for my parents to receive my teacher's report that I'd skipped the first day of class.

I stumbled through the door, my palms and knees raw from falling in the dirt, my clothes torn and streaked with mud.

I tried to sneak past them, but Dad was already sitting on the couch. His arms crossed, and a heavy frown was on his face.

"Why did you skip class?" His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it.

I opened my mouth. I was prepared to explain everything. But before I could get a single word out, Charlie jumped in, grinning like he'd been waiting for this moment.

"Oh, she's just mad 'cause everyone likes Ginny more," he said, a smug grin spreading across his face.

He stuck his tongue out at me like he always did when he thought I was a loser. "Such a little brat!"

"No! That's not— I didn't—" I stammered, my words tangled in my throat, desperate to make them understand.

But then Dad slammed his hand down on the coffee table with a crack that made me jump.

"Go to the attic and think about what you've done!" he shouted, his face red with anger.

My heart raced, and my eyes darted to Mom, hoping she'd say something and step in like she usually did when things got bad.

She glanced at my scraped knees, her face softening for a split second. I thought maybe—just maybe—she'd defend me.

But then Dad's voice cut through the room like a whip. "Do not interfere, Irine! She needs to learn a lesson!"

Before I knew it, his hand was wrapped around my arm, yanking me up the stairs. I stumbled behind him, trying to keep my balance, my legs shaky from the pain and fear.

"I am Henry Franklin! I will not tolerate a child who is petty and selfish!"

His words sliced through me harder than anything Charlie had ever said.

Dad shoved me into the attic. And then the door slammed shut behind me with a hollow thud. He left me alone in that dark, suffocating, damp space.

The silence was eerie and deafening. I crumpled to the floor, feeling the sting of my scraped palms and the ache in my heart.

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable. I tried to stop them, but it was like holding back a flood.

Everything hurt.

And then, I heard her voice.

Ginny.

She was standing there in the shadows. Her eyes glinted with that smug look she always had when she knew she'd won.

"Betty," she said softly, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "pretty soon, your dad, mom, and brother? They're all gonna be mine."

Her words hit me like a slap. I blinked at her, my mind reeling.

"Why should a fat girl like you get all their love while I'm an orphan?" she sneered, taking a step closer.

I couldn't move. I couldn't even cry anymore. I just stared at her, numb and confused.

Why? Why did she hate me this much? What had I ever done to her?

Before I could even process it, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my hair. She yanked me down hard, slamming my head against the floor with a sickening crack.

I gasped. The shock of pain spread through my skull as blood started to trickle down my face.

But Ginny was merciless! She kept hitting me, over and over, her grip as brutal as her words!

I tried to fight back, but she was stronger than I imagined.

My arms felt weak. I was powerless against the monster she unleashed.

All I could do was lie there, broken and bruised, wondering how it had all come to this.

Then I heard slow footsteps on the stairs.

Mom!

"What happened? Did someone fall?" she asked.

For a brief, desperate moment, I thought I was saved.

I could barely get the words out, my voice shaky. But I called, "Mom! Mom, help! Please!"

The footsteps quickened, and I let myself hope—just for a sec—that she'd finally see what was really happening. That she'd save me, too.

But Ginny's hand released my hair just before Mom opened the door.

In one horrifying moment, Ginny messed up her own hair, and then, with terrifying precision, she grabbed my hand and scratched her neck with it. Deep, angry red marks appeared instantly.

When Mom burst through the door, everything slowed.

Ginny was on the floor—her eyes wide and tearful, her face bruised and pitiful.

"Ginny!" Mom screamed, rushing to her side, arms wrapping around her like she was the one in danger. "Oh, sweetie, don't be scared. I'm here, I'm here..."

And then, she turned to me, her eyes full of fury.

She didn't hesitate. Her hand flew across my face before I even saw it coming.

The slap sent me crashing to the ground, the sting so sharp it took my breath away.

"Oh, dear lord! How could you do this, Betty?" Mom's voice was thick with disbelief. She couldn't fathom that her own daughter would do something so cruel.

"What were you thinking?" Her voice cracked with anger and a deep, cutting disappointment that shattered me more than the slap.

I looked up at her, wanting to explain and scream the truth. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled in the pain and humiliation.

Behind her, Ginny was smirking.

She always wore that smug, victorious smile when she knew she had won.

And maybe she had...

Dad and Charlie appeared in the doorway, their faces taut with concern.

"Ginny, sweetie, what happened?" Dad asked, his voice softening as he crouched down to her level.

Ginny, still sniffling, pulled a piece of candy from her pocket, her eyes glistening with fake tears.

"I just wanted to give this to her… to say sorry… but she said I stole all your love, and then she started hitting me..."

I felt my blood boil. My heart raced as I scrambled to my feet, rage surging through me.

"You're a liar! You hit me! You're the one who did that to yourself!" I yelled, but it was like shouting into the void.

Dad's face turned an alarming shade of red, his anger bubbling over.

"Shut up!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the cramped attic. He grabbed my shirt, yanking me down to my knees. "How did you turn into such a liar? How could you be so cruel?!"

My tears flowed freely, each a mix of frustration and pain. My whole body trembled with the weight of it all.

When Dad finally let go of me, he turned back to Ginny, his voice shifting to a soothing tone.

"Ginny, sweetie, don't be scared. If she hits you, you can hit her back. It's only fair."

His words struck me like a punch to the gut, and the attic spun as I tried to process what I was hearing.

Dad was telling her to hurt me more?

I looked up at Dad, trying to recognize him—the man who used to lift me high, spinning me around until I giggled so hard my sides hurt.

Was that really the same dad? I searched his face, but all I saw was coldness.

Ginny was beside him, looking like the perfect little victim. Tears were streaming down her face, and her head was shaking like she was devastated. She was always good at that—playing pitiful.

And it worked. Because without even thinking, Dad grabbed her hand and… started using it to slap me.

He taught her how to hit me.

I didn't feel the first few slaps, not physically. I was too numb for that.

But the shame? That cut through me like nothing else. It was like I wasn't even in my own body, watching from the outside as my father showed my sister how to hurt me.

And Mom… Mom didn't even look at me. She just turned her head, like if she didn't see it, it wasn't happening.

Charlie stood off to the side, his eyes filled with disgust. I think that hurt the most, honestly. That look in his eyes made me feel like I wasn't even his sister anymore—just something beneath him.

Ginny? She's usually so timid, but that time, she kept hitting me over and over, and it wasn't just my face that stung. Every slap hit deeper like she wanted to break something inside me. My soul, maybe.

And I think she did. I had never been treated like that before.

I wailed. I struggled to get free. But they just stood there—my own family—watching me like I was some freak show! No one stepped in. No one stopped her!

When Ginny finally grew tired and backed off, my chest was on fire, and my entire body trembled while I was catching my breath.

Soon, all I heard was my unsettling breath. The world around me faded as they turned their backs and locked me away in that traumatizing attic.

The next day, after waiting all night, someone finally came to let me out.

It wasn't Mom or Dad—of course not. It was the maid, and when she saw me, she just… scoffed. Like I was something pathetic, not even worth her time.

At first, I didn't get it. I was still reeling from everything that happened.

But then Ginny threw a mirror in front of me. Of course, she wanted to see how I'd react. She said, "You look even more like a pig now."

I saw the bruises and the swollen mess on my face. I barely recognized myself.

I twisted my nose, and I winced. Ginny should pay for it!

I wanted her to feel even a fraction of the pain I'd felt. I thought I could charge at her, make her feel something.

But before I could even take a step, Charlie's boot slammed into my side, knocking me back to the floor.

"Charlie! She hit me last night!" I showed him my cheeks. "And now, didn't you hear her call me a pig?"

I was desperate for him to see that I was the victim. I wanted my brother to side with me just for once.

But he looked down at me. "Was she wrong, though?" he shot back casually.

I thought the world stopped for a second. When it finally registered in my head, I wondered, what's the point of being alive?

I looked into my brother's eyes, and the answer wasn't there.

Maybe he realized I expected him to be a brother to me, so he said, "Look, Ginny's my sister. You? You just bring me shame, so don't tell anyone I'm your brother when we're out."

Then Ginny strutted past, her dirty shoes dragging over my white dress, leaving filthy smudges behind. I lay there, helpless, listening to the sound of their laughter fading down the hall.

I didn't know what I was feeling. Maybe everything. Maybe hell. But maybe trapped was the most accurate term. I was trapped between the desperate need for my family to care and that nightmare I constantly willed myself to wake up from.

It felt like no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I begged for them to see me, that—that hell—was all I'd ever be. And god, I was so scared it would follow me. Forever.

I actually believed I'd escaped it, though. Growing up, I thought once I got taller and slimmer, I'd stop being the disgusting overweight kid.

But the truth is, shame stuck to me. Childhood ghosts just don't vanish—they cling tighter than my bangs, tighter than those awful thick glasses I wore like a mask.

Even when I wasn't fat anymore, I still felt it. My insecurities were thick and heavy, like a layer of fat—except no one else could see it. I was still the little girl craving affection, still envious of Ginny's effortless charm.

I remember, one day, I got home, and the moment I stepped through the doorway, guess what? Dad threw a cup at me. He literally just hurled it straight at my face, and it hit me hard, right on the forehead. I didn't even have time to react before I felt blood dripping down. God, he was furious!

"What the hell were you thinking?! Why did you put a dead mouse in Ginny's lunch?" he roared.

And Ginny? Of course, that girl curled up next to Dad like a snake. Of course, she robbed me of the chance to be heard. She just casually laughed and nudged him playfully.

"Dad, if she's gonna do this to me, I think I should get to bully her back."

That angel in disguise! I knew what she was doing!

No, she wasn't waiting for Dad's approval. She knew he would just casually nod. But she asked that question in front of me anyway 'cause she knew that even if I already knew what Dad would say, his words would still break me inside.

She always enjoyed seeing me suffer. Like hurting me was just a game for her.

And then, as I expected, Dad nodded without hesitation, like Ginny's suggestion made perfect sense. Like I deserved it.

He turned his back on me, and that's when Charlie stepped in.

Without warning, he shoved me down. I didn't even have a second to brace myself before I hit the floor. My glasses broke, and one of the pieces cut my cheek.

The pain was sharp, but what really hurt was the casual way they did it like I was nothing more than a food wrap.

They've been doing it for so long, I was almost numb to it.

Then they dumped this pile of rotten food right in front of me. I swear, the smell was so awful I could puke!

Then Ginny leaned over me. That crazy girl laughed like she already imagined what's gonna happen next.

"Go on, eat it. Don't worry. It's way cleaner than a dead mouse," she said, smirking down at me.

That's my life. I'd stopped trying to fight back. No one ever listened anyway. It's always been like that.

So I did it. I opened my mouth, and I took a handful of spoiled rice and rotten fish. The taste was so much more horrible than the smell.

Mango. There was mango in it.

I remember that because I'm allergic. It was sickening. But I swallowed it anyway, like a part of me wished it would just kill me. Maybe then my life would stop hurting.

Charlie was annoyed I wasn't eating fast enough, so he pushed my head onto the floor. The food smeared all over my face, and I just… couldn't stop crying. His hand was so heavy it muffled my sobs on the thick pile of rotten food.

I was fucking humiliated, but what was the point of fighting?

You might be asking where my mom was. Well, she was upstairs playing with a new dog. I could hear her voice. It was cheerful and carefree.

Then I heard Dad's heavy footsteps echoing and then fading on the stairs. He just left me there, discarded like the food I was forced to eat.

I thought, at least it was done. But then Ginny pressed her foot onto my face, hard enough that I could feel my skin bruising under her shoe.

"You brought this on yourself," she said, word by word. Typical of her—pretending to be innocent. In fact, if she killed me, I bet everyone would believe it was suicide.

The next thing I knew, the allergic reaction kicked in. I started to feel a burning sensation in my throat, and I felt like I was being set on fire. My skin was breaking out in hives. I was choking, trying to gasp for air.

I reached out to Charlie, begging him to help me, and he almost didn't. He looked like he was going to kick me away again until he saw how bad it was.

I barely heard Mom say, "I need to wash the puppy. Can you guys take her to the hospital?"

She didn't even come downstairs to see me. Dad didn't care, either. He just grumbled, "Clean her up first. We don't want people thinking we abuse her."

As if they didn't.