After your mother died, your dad met Susan. She had a son, Ethan, two years older than you, athletic, popular, great at hockey. You weren’t. But you could run. You begged your dad to come watch one of your races.

One day, at Ethan’s hockey game, you went back to the car to grab your phone that you accidentally left in the car. That’s when you heard your dad talking to another father.

“Yeah, well, at least I have Ethan. My other kid… honestly, I’d trade them away. I’d rather have two kids who are great at hockey….”

I stayed silent, my heart pounding in my chest, tears burning behind my eyes. I waited until they left before starting to walk back. The rest of the game, I stayed quiet and emotionless.

In the weeks and months that followed, something changed. You stopped engaging. You stopped asking your dad to come to your competitions or even to pick you up after school. When anyone asked you anything, you kept your answers short.

“How was your day?” Susan asked as we ate dinner.