Unwanted

She is 14. She lives on the edge of the house, in a dark, damp closet with bare walls, a sagging floor, and a light bulb that flickers like the pulse of a dying man.

Behind the door is a world where she doesn't exist. There's laughter there. There are blankets, pizza, new phones. Her brothers live there - the pride of the family, the favorites.

In the morning, the mother puts three plates on the table. The fourth one is empty.

“There’s no point in feeding something that doesn’t deserve it,” she says and throws a dirty rag at her.

The father leafs through the newspaper without looking up.

— "Let him wash the floors. At least he'll be good for something."

At school, she is ignored. Her clothes smell of dampness, her hair is tangled, her eyes are empty.

After school - home. There are screams. A belt thrown on the table. Her brother laughs when she trips with a bucket.

• “Look at this wretchedness!” he claps his hands.

• "It's disgusting to look at! Get this out of my sight!" - the mother screams.

On Sunday the brothers are taken to the mall. She is told to scrub the toilet.

At night, the door is propped open with a chair. She has no name. In family photos, there is an empty space.

She is a shadow. A mistake. A silent spot in a perfect picture.

When she falls down the stairs, her father passes by. When she has a fever, her mother slams the window.

— "Only those who are important get sick. Get up and clean up."

The brothers are celebrating a birthday at a pizzeria. She is left with a piece of bread and a bucket.

There is a mouse in the room. She is the same - quiet.

There's a rusty nail on the wall. Something used to hang there. Something that mattered. But it fell long ago.

She is 14. She lives on the edge of the house, in a dark, damp closet with bare walls, a sagging floor, and a light bulb that flickers like the pulse of a dying man.

Behind the door is a world where she doesn't exist. There's laughter there. There are blankets, pizza, new phones. Her brothers live there - the pride of the family, the favorites.

In the morning, the mother puts three plates on the table. The fourth one is empty.

“There’s no point in feeding something that doesn’t deserve it,” she says and throws a dirty rag at her.

The father leafs through the newspaper without looking up.

— "Let him wash the floors. At least he'll be good for something."

At school, she is ignored. Her clothes smell of dampness, her hair is tangled, her eyes are empty.

After school - home. There are screams. A belt thrown on the table. Her brother laughs when she trips with a bucket.

• “Look at this wretchedness!” he claps his hands.

• "It's disgusting to look at! Get this out of my sight!" - the mother screams.

On Sunday the brothers are taken to the mall. She is told to scrub the toilet.

At night, the door is propped open with a chair. She has no name. In family photos, there is an empty space.

She is a shadow. A mistake. A silent spot in a perfect picture.

When she falls down the stairs, her father passes by. When she has a fever, her mother slams the window.

— "Only those who are important get sick. Get up and clean up."

The brothers are celebrating a birthday at a pizzeria. She is left with a piece of bread and a bucket.

There is a mouse in the room. She is the same - quiet.

There's a rusty nail on the wall. Something used to hang there. Something that mattered. But it fell long ago.