Chapter 2A Father’s Love, Worth Only Paper

I couldn't help but find it hilarious.

I wiped away my tears and practically fled the building, clutching the album to my chest.

Even after sitting in my own bedroom for an hour, my mind was entirely blank. My husband, David, reached out and gently touched my forehead. "If you need to cry, my shoulder is right here."

Was I sad? Honestly, no.

Just a dry throat and stinging eyes. Nothing more.

David gently took the album from my hands. "You as a kid? You were pretty cute."

As he slowly flipped through the pages, my brain felt like a tangled ball of yarn.

The night my father passed, we had actually argued about this very issue.

"We had to leave you at your grandmother's house back then. We had no choice. But later, we brought you back," he had said, his trembling hand grabbing mine.

"No one in this family ever played favorites. You're just too calculative."

"When you have kids of your own, you'll understand my intentions."

I had mercilessly pried his fingers off mine, meticulously wiping my skin where he had touched me. "I can stop calculating. But while you were paralyzed, why did you only call for me, and never for her?"

The father and daughter had fallen into a suffocating silence.

My dad, who usually loved to complain about how clumsy and useless Mia was, didn't utter a single word in her defense.

This deeply skewed, biased love had always been our family's poison. It was the knot I could never untie.

He didn't say anything. His mouth hung open, but the words never came, and then, he took his last breath.

Six years of being a left-behind child felt like a cosmic joke. In a trance, I remembered my grandmother wiping away my tears over and over again. "Your dad went to get medical treatment. When he's better, he'll come pick you up."

Yeah. He got better, and I went home.

But arriving with them was Mia, born the year after they left. My dad had patted my head, speaking with heavy significance. "Mia is your companion. When we're old, you'll have someone to discuss things with."

"She's too young; she needs constant care. So we have to take her with us."

"You have school tomorrow. We're just going away for two months. We'll be back soon."

I remember frowning, throwing a tantrum on the floor. "Liars! You can't take me because of your medical treatment, so why are you taking Mia?!"

A little girl's tears didn't buy any sympathy from my parents.

Early the next morning, they left.

The space next to my bed was empty and freezing cold.

And so began my next cycle of living under someone else's roof.

Because of school districts, I was moved from my loving grandmother's house to my step-grandmother's house.

She was my grandfather's second wife, a harsh woman who absolutely despised me.

Annoyed at having an extra mouth to feed, she constantly scowled. "Why do girls eat like pigs?"

"When you're done stuffing your face, go wash the dishes."

"You're so lazy. No one will ever marry you. No wonder your own parents don't even like you."

Her vicious words hit me right in the chest. I didn't understand what I had done wrong.

My shoulders shook violently as I let my tears fall silently onto the freshly washed bowls.

The brutal truth of the world is: it doesn't matter if you make mistakes. As long as you are the favored one, you win by simply existing.