Growing up, I was always looked down on in our small town. I was the “abnormal” and “misinterpreted” girl that was never truly accepted. Quiet and timid towards the world, I never reached out for help from my peers and mentors. The other children at school shunned me, and the townsfolk rejected me. My parents never understood me either. My father is the mayor, and my mother had always been the most loved woman in town. She deserved that title. She was kind and proper, never failing to help those who needed it. My father was similar when it came to the public eye. He had to be; he was the most important man in town. Everyone adored him, and he convinced them that his words were genuine and trustworthy. Even though my mother never understood me she was my best friend and the only person who ever truly cared about me. She protected me from the disapproving looks of our neighbors and from the ridgid fist of my father. He never hit me with his palm, but his silence spoke a thousand words. He didn’t see me as his own, just a person who roamed the barren halls of his heart. She protected me from his harsh stares and unkind words until her last breath. She passed a way many years ago but I don’t think she ever really left me. Now, on my birthday I stand alone in my room, everything seeming so different. I can still feel her presence as I blow out the single candle placed upon the cupcake I hold in my freshly 18-year-old hands.

My mother always believed birthdays were important no matter the person. Every year she would throw a huge celebration for me, and even though this town never loved me, my mother made it feel like the whole world loved me. My father used to care about them too, but now that she’s gone he resents them more than anything. She was the life of the party, and he always admired that about her. These days he sits alone and pretends the celebrations that made us feel like a true family are no longer worth celebrating. I wish we could have found comfort in each other when she passed but he chose to shut me out completely.

As the flame from my candle faded away, I set the cupcake on my desk and turned to admire my room for the last time. I never truly knew how much my father resented me until her passing, and now, escaping this prison, I feel no sympathy for my fathers wretched heart. My backpack and I quietly passed through the hallways that used to be ignited by laughter and love on days like these. Strolling calmly through the door and down the driveway, I avoided looking back to appreciate the house that used to be a home. I escaped without a noise or word from anyone. But I wasn’t surprised no one noticed my disappearance when I never belonged here anyway.