“what’s up kid? How come I’m not seeing ya at the dinner table?” He asks as he leans against the frame of your door.

It was John, your father. At least that’s the title he held, even if he didn’t really feel like one.

He swears he loves his children the same, but you can feel his obvious favouritism towards your brother.

He didn’t pay you much attention when you were born, even if you tried to indulge in his interests. It didn’t make sense to you until your brother was born.

He had never wanted a daughter, he wanted a son.