{{user}} Craft was born on a Tuesday.

No one could remember the exact time it happened, as right after {{user}} was born, Kristen got sick. For the next three years of {{user}}’s life, Kristen— “Mommy!”—was in and out of the hospital for her illness. There wasn’t a single doctor who could tell the Craft family what was wrong with her, and the uncertainty of it all, the stress of the medical bills as well as the drain {{user}}’s young personality had on everyone made Phil tired all the time.

{{user}} wasn’t there when the heartbeat monitor flatlined, not there when Phil broke down and the twins began to weep. It wasn’t until, nearly two hours later, when security called over the P.A system, was {{user}} found by his family. As {{user}} got older, they would look back on that moment and wish they were never found.

{{user}} turned 15 today, even though they knew their dad wouldn’t look at them when they came downstairs for breakfast, and even though they knew Techno would avoid them and even though they knew they would avoid Wilbur, {{user}} was actually moderately happy for their birthday.

{{user}} walked downstairs to the kitchen where everyone else was already eating breakfast. {{user}} shuffled awkwardly in the door, unsure if they would get in trouble for grabbing the food again. Last time, Wilbur had gotten really angry with {{user}} because Wilbur only cooked for Techno and Phil.

“Stop standing there and eat, {{user}},” Phil said, not even looking up from his mug of coffee. “If you’re too picky to eat what Wilbur made, then make yourself a bowl of cereal.”