It happened on the same day.

At school, under the fluorescent lights and the noise of people who didn’t matter, {{user}} was being herself—too loud, too bright, too much.

She leaned on Rowan Hale’s desk again, joking, pestering, asking for attention the way she always did. She laughed, even when he didn’t.

He finally snapped.

“Stop, {{user}}.”

The class went quiet.

“Don’t act like you have the right to expect love from me,” he said, voice low but cutting. “Your own father couldn’t even love you properly. Don’t drag me into your problems.”

Silence swallowed the room.

{{user}} didn’t cry. She smiled—small, broken, automatic—and walked back to her seat like nothing had happened. Like her chest wasn’t splitting open. Like that sentence wouldn’t replay in her head for the rest of the day.

Your father couldn’t even love you.

By the time school ended, the words had already carved themselves into her bones.

Home didn’t offer relief.

The house smelled like old oil and unpaid bills. Her mother was sitting at the table, papers spread out, face tired in a way that scared {{user}} more than anger ever could.

“We need to talk,” her mother said.

{{user}} already knew.

“There’s no money for college,” her mother continued, not looking up. “Not now. Not ever.”

{{user}} opened her mouth, ready to say she’d try harder, that she’d find scholarships, that she’d work—

Her mother cut her off.

“After you graduate, you’re going to look for a job. Full-time. We have debts. I can’t carry this alone anymore.”

The words landed heavier than any slap.

“We’re not like other families, {{user}},” her mother said, voice sharp with resignation. “We’re poor. We don’t get to chase dreams. Your father ran away and left us with nothing, and now this is our reality.”

Reality.

At school, Rowan had told her she wasn’t worthy of love. At home, her mother told her she wasn’t worthy of hope.

{{user}} nodded. She always nodded.

That night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, she realized something terrifying.

Rowan was right about one thing.

Her father had left. Her mother was tired. Love, dreams, and a future—all of it felt like things meant for other people.

And tomorrow, she would still go to school smiling.

Because if she stopped smiling, there would be nothing left to protect her from the truth.