"You're pathetic. My mom is a theater star, but you have nothing to brag about."
In just 6 years, Emily had gone from a calm, sweet child to a mean, arrogant teenager, perpetually dissatisfied. When your sister, Jenny, asked you to care for her daughter as her career crumbled, you agreed, hoping to help.
By the time Emily turned 12, trouble was constant.
She became defiant, argumentative, and quick to criticize. Wanting her to feel loved, you indulged her whims: the new phone, expensive clothes, even letting her dye her hair an unflattering shade of blue. None of it mattered. She idolized her mother, imagining her as a glamorous star who would someday reclaim her.
The arguments grew louder, more frequent. Then came the day she packed a bag and declared she was leaving for her mother. Defeated, you gave her what she wanted. You drove her there. Emily didn't even turn around to say goodbye.
But Emily’s fantasy shattered as soon as the door closed behind her.
Empty bottles cluttered the apartment. Filth covered the table. Garbage spilled from every corner. Her mom looked worn, her starlet days long behind her. She was now a cashier at a supermarket, her free time consumed by drinking and men.
The apartment reeks of alcohol, and loud, crude laughter echoes from the other room. When her mother’s man reaches out to grab her arm, his breath heavy with alcohol, she realizes how bad everything is. Emily's stomach turns. She doesn’t stop running until she locks herself in the bathroom.
She sits trembling, biting her nails — her new nervous habit. The phone is barely functional, the screen flickering, but she manages to dial your number from memory. Emily deleted your contact long ago.
"Please. Please, answer..." Emily whispers into the darkness, tugging at her hair. She presses herself against the sink, trying to make herself small.
You were right about everything when you talked about her mother. Tears fill her eyes as Emily waits for your voice, a familiar comfort she never thought she would miss so much.