After My Family Broke Me, I Vanished with a Full Scholarship Chapter 01
To our relatives and friends, we had always looked like a happy, close-knit blended family.
Noah was Mom’s son from her previous relationship, and Emily was Dad’s daughter from his.
On the surface, both of them were treated equally.
Whenever cash went missing from the house, Mom never suspected Emily.
She simply turned around and slapped me.
Whenever no one cleared the dishes after dinner, Dad would send Noah back to his room to rest, then warn me that if I didn’t clean everything, I could forget about eating.
Even after Mom and Dad fought with each other, I was always the one forced to absorb their anger.
So I fell apart.
“You’re too young to be pretending you’re depressed.”
When Mom found the scars on my arm, there was nothing in her eyes but disgust.
I did most of the work in the house and endured the worst of their abuse until, one night, I cut my wrist.
Only after that hospital stay did my parents finally stop playing favorites, at least for a while.
For the first time in more than a decade, I had a room of my own, even if it was only a cramped home office temporarily converted into a bedroom.
For the first time in my life, I had the bare minimum of privacy.
That lasted until Noah and Emily got into a massive argument.
By the time I came home from school, my room had already been turned back into the home office.
My luggage had been dumped carelessly in the living room.
Mom announced the decision in a perfectly calm voice.
“Noah’s room is too close to Emily’s, and his gaming keeps her awake.
Be mature about this.
We’ve played along with your act long enough.
Stop using self-harm to create problems for us.”
This time, I didn’t scream, cry, or fight back the way I used to.
I couldn’t hear anything anymore.
And I didn’t want anything anymore, either.
…
When Mom saw me trying to enter the home office, she grabbed my wrist.
The moment her fingers touched the thick ridges of scar tissue, she let go.
“What part of that didn’t you understand?
That room is Noah’s gaming room now.”
Then she slammed the door shut.
She wouldn’t even let me look inside one last time.
A laugh slipped out of me.
“Then where am I supposed to sleep?”
Mom paused, then pointed impatiently toward the living room as though the question didn’t deserve a real answer.
“There’s a couch, isn’t there?
There’s a carpet too.
Sleep wherever you want.
Stop acting like a victim.”
She said it so casually, as though she were deciding where a stray dog should sleep for the night.
“Don’t I deserve a room of my own?”
My voice was barely above a whisper, but Dad exploded as though he had been waiting for me to resist.
“You already have everything you need in this house.
Why do you have to fight Noah and Emily over a little space?
Noah grew up without his biological father, and Emily grew up without her biological mother.
What could you possibly have to complain about?
They’re both doing just fine.
You’re the only one who walks around looking miserable all day.”
His words silenced me again.
I opened my mouth, but in the end, I closed it without saying anything.
They had used that same argument to shut me up for as long as I could remember.
Whenever I fought back, they called me ungrateful and selfish and told me I didn’t even deserve a place in this family.
I was afraid.
When Emily came home from work, she tripped over my luggage as she walked through the door.
The moment she saw me, she frowned.
“What now?”
Mom answered in a mocking voice.
“She insists on having her own room, and now she’s making sure no one in this family gets a moment of peace.”
Emily responded casually, her tone just as mocking as Mom’s.
“Why does a kid need privacy?”
A kid.
She said it as though my feelings meant nothing.
She had completely forgotten that when she came to live with us at six years old, she had immediately been given a room of her own.
Her room had a computer, and she received a weekly allowance.
Everyone had to knock before entering.
If anyone walked in without permission, she threw a tantrum until they apologized.
Now she could see exactly how much I was hurting, and she still chose to mock me.
“This conversation is over.”
Mom shoved a laundry basket overflowing with dirty clothes into my arms, making it clear she had no intention of hearing me out.
“Go wash these.”
“I’m about to take the exam that could decide whether I get into college and qualify for a scholarship…”
“Stop using that exam as an excuse.
Noah and Emily took exams like that too.
Did they ever use one to get out of doing chores?”
They had never needed an excuse.
They had never been expected to wash dishes, clean rooms, or deal with endless piles of dirty laundry.
Mom refused to make Emily do chores because she was afraid Dad might accuse her of deliberately targeting his daughter.
Dad refused to make Noah do anything because he was afraid Mom might accuse him of deliberately targeting her son.
Making me do everything was easier.
No matter how often they suspected me, berated me, or hit me, no one would ever step forward to protect me.
My silence only made Mom angrier.
She shoved me into the laundry room, then suddenly raised her hand and slapped me so hard that my head snapped to the side.
The overhead light shone down on her cold, merciless face.
“Wash them now.
No more excuses.
Noah needs those clothes tomorrow.
Do you think taking care of five people every day is easy?
You already have more than enough.
Why do you always have to fight me?”
“What part of my life is supposed to be happy?”