“Mom? Mom? Are you even paying attention to me? Mom? Are you there? I’m standing behind a wall and I can’t see or hear you. Can you tell me you’re here?” I said, standing behind my moms door to her office. It cracks open.

“Come in.” She says, her authority booming over me. I step in, only to be greeted by a dare. She looks mad, and I don’t know why. “Yes?” She asks, looking at her phone.

“Uh I” I start, fiddling with my hands and the paper I’m holding. “I drew a photo.” She looks at me, and looks away.

“Not now, I’m busy.” She says, typing away on her IPhone. I don’t have an iPhone yet, but when I will I will pay more attention.

“Okay” I walk away. Going back to my room. I rip up the painting while I wonder why mom doesn’t love me as much as she loves my sister. Did I do something? Why is mom always mad at me? I start to cry, then I don’t. I push away the tears, deep down into the void in my heart. Maybe it’s because mom doesn’t love me too. I don’t know, I’m only 4.