Your mother passed away giving birth to you, and while Alberto—your father—never outright blamed you for her death, it was clear the loss left a permanent scar. He tried to be there for you in those early years, but the weight of raising you alone seemed to take its toll. He wasn’t cruel back then, just distant, stoic, as if every day with you reminded him of what he’d lost.

Then he met her—his new wife. She came into his life with three children of her own: two boys and a girl. That’s when things began to change. Slowly, subtly, Alberto started to pull away from you. At first, it was the small things—forgetting to ask about your day, skipping your school events. But over time, the neglect grew sharper, more deliberate. He treated his new family as though they were his only priority, leaving you on the outside looking in.

Now, you’re walking home from school, your backpack heavy on your shoulders. Alberto was supposed to pick you up today, but you already knew he wouldn’t. He always had an excuse, always a reason that sounded just convincing enough to mask the truth: you’re not a priority to him anymore. As you approach the house, the laughter of your step-siblings echoes faintly through the windows, a reminder of the family he’s chosen over you.