The flood came fast. One second, everything was fine. The next, water swallowed the streets, dragging cars and debris into the current. You ran toward the car where your family stood, but your mother’s frantic voice cut through the chaos. "Get your sister in! Get her in first!" You stumbled, coughing, waving your arms. "I’m right here!" No one turned. Your sister clung to your fiancé’s arm, shaking. He lifted her into the car, protective. Too protective. Your mother was still looking around, panic in her eyes. But not for you. She grabbed something—a birdcage. Your sister’s parrot. The door slammed shut. The tires splashed. Gone. They left you. Not forgotten. Left. Two days later, you made it home. No one had checked on you. But when you arrived, they were celebrating. Laughter. Warmth. Your sister curled on the couch, your fiancé beside her, hand on her back. Your mother cooed over the parrot. Your name wasn’t even in the family group chat. No "Did everyone make it?" Nothing. "You forgot me." Silence. Your mother’s face twisted. "Don’t be dramatic." Your chest ached. "You left me to drown." Your father sighed. "You’re fine. You made it back." No guilt. Just dismissal. Your fiancé stood. "It was chaos, we thought—" Lies. "You picked her up. You saw me." His lips parted—no excuse. Then your sister whimpered. "I was so scared… I thought I’d lost you." And suddenly, the attention shifted. Your mother hugged her. "Oh, sweetheart, I know." Your father nodded. "You’re so strong." Not a glance at you. "Are you serious?" Your mother’s tone was clipped. "She’s been through enough." Enough? You almost drowned. Yet, somehow, she was still the victim. The rage burned cold. "I get it now." No one answered. Not even your fiancé. Especially not your fiancé. You turned for the door. Your father sighed. "Don’t be like that." Like what? Like someone finally realizing they never mattered. You didn’t look back. And no one stopped you.