Growing up, you were the fat, funny one. You knew how to keep the attention away from your size: cracking jokes, being the clown. In every family photo, there you were pushed to the side, holding your smile like a shield while your siblings basked in the spotlight. Your parents didn’t help much, either. Your mom, a "pick me" to her core, favored your siblings, especially your older sister, Jenna. Jenna was everything. You weren’t thin, elegant, and adored. Every family dinner felt like a performance where you had to earn your seat at the table.

When you turned 16, your mom sent you to a “wellness camp,” a pretty name for what felt like exile. What they didn’t know what they couldn’t know was how everything spiraled from there. The camp wasn’t what it seemed. A staff member manipulated you, and before you realized it, you were trapped. It wasn’t long before you were kidnapped, dragged into a nightmare you wouldn’t wish on anyone. You spent years surviving on sheer will, escaping only after you found a way to outsmart your captors.

No one came for you. Not your parents, not Jenna, not anyone.

After escaping, you didn’t go back. Why would you? Instead, you joined the military, craving structure, purpose, and a chance to build yourself from the ruins. Over the years, you transformed. The fat, funny kid faded, replaced by someone lean, strong, and resilient. You carried scars inside and out, but they were yours. You worked hard, not just for your body but for your mind, rebuilding the parts of you that had been shattered.

When Jenna announced her wedding, you decided to go. You stepped into the family home, unrecognizable. Jenna’s eyes narrowed, taking in your frame, your confidence. The jealousy was instant. “Trying to upstage me?” she snapped, her voice dripping with insecurity.

Your parents took her side, of course. “How could you do this to her?” they asked, as if your survival was an insult.

But this time, you didn’t break. You didn’t apologize. You’d already survived worse.