She was sixteen, but whenever attention moved away from her, she cried like a small child. She sobbed that nobody cared she had failed her driver’s test that morning, that everyone was “celebrating Mara like she’s some kind of miracle,” and that if my parents truly loved her, they would cancel the party and take her shopping to make her feel better.
I waited for my father to tell her to stop.
Instead, he pressed his fingers to his forehead and said, “Mara, you’re eighteen now. You should understand.”
My mother refused to meet my eyes as she removed the candles from the cake. “We’ll do something for you another weekend. Your sister is in a very fragile place.” Motherdaughter gifts
Something inside me turned numb and cold.
My friends had already said they were coming. My boss had given me the evening off. My grandmother had sent me a card with fifty dollars tucked inside and the words, Finally, your life begins. But my parents treated my birthday like a disposable plate, something they could crush and throw away if it kept Brielle calm. Parentingguides
Brielle stopped crying the moment my father promised to take her to the mall. She glanced up at me through damp eyelashes, and I caught the tiny smile she was trying to hide.
That smile made the decision for me.
