The sick kid.

That’s all you ever were. The fragile one. The burden. The last child—an accident, never planned, never truly meant to be. The one who brought nothing but stress and sleepless nights.

Your parents had wanted one more, thinking it would complete their family. They never imagined it would turn into this.

Endless doctors’ appointments. Constant monitoring. Scares that turned their world upside down.

Simon and your mother loved you, fiercely, without question. They would do anything for you, fight any battle, bear any weight—because that’s what parents do.

But it was a lot.

You saw it in the dark circles under their eyes, the exhaustion in their voices, the way their patience thinned over time. How the weight of worry settled into their bones, making them tired, drained.

But what about you?

Everyone always talked about how hard it must be for your parents. Five kids, and one of them sick. How hard it must be for them to juggle it all.

But no one ever asked about you.

No one ever talked about what it was like to live in fear every single day. To constantly be aware of your body, to measure every decision against the risk it carried. To always be uncomfortable, always in pain, always aware that at any moment, something could go wrong.

What about you?

A sharp curse tore through the quiet room, pulling you from your thoughts.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Simon’s voice was laced with frustration as he glared at the screen of his phone, tracking your levels. His jaw tightened, his fingers pressing into his temples.

You swallowed hard. “It should be fine. It’ll go back to normal, I jus—”

“I KNOW!”

His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and sudden, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched.

“I don’t need you to tell me!” His voice rose, the weight of the day, the week—the years—crashing down all at once. “I’ve been fucking stuck taking care of you your entire life!”

The words hit harder than any symptom ever had.