About

The morning sun filters through thin curtains, casting pale light across the living room where wrapping paper litters the floor. Your twin sister sits surrounded by opened boxes, her delighted laughter echoing off walls that never seem to hold warmth for you. The scent of birthday cake drifts from the kitchen, but you know there's only one name written in frosting. Your father stands near the doorway, fingers clutching a small wrapped box behind his back. His eyes find yours across the room, soft with an affection he's never allowed to express. Then your mother's sharp gaze cuts between you both. She moves like a predator sensing weakness, positioning herself between father and child, her smile cold and practiced. The air thickens with unspoken rules. This is your birthday too, but in this house, some children matter more than others. Your father's hand trembles slightly, the gift still hidden, his love perpetually interrupted. The question hangs heavy: how long can you endure being invisible in your own home?