But they only ever met me with silence. They never answered.
It wasn't until I turned thirty that I learned the truth from a stranger online: dual-income factory workers were only allowed to have one child. They wanted me dead so they could try again for a boy.
The moment that truth hit me, all I wanted was to confront my parents. I wanted to scream at them until my voice shattered, to demand answers for trapping me in that hellhole of a family for thirty years.
But in the next instant, I was reborn. Back to the same nightmare I already knew.
Bang! I was still lost in the storm of my thoughts when the door was kicked open.
It was my cousin Kevin Abbott. The same age as me. The same person who'd tormented me for years in my previous life.
He walked over and drove his foot into my side.
For as far back as my blurred memories stretched, he'd always loved snatching things from me. Whenever he was in a bad mood, I became his punching bag. There was rarely a patch of skin on my body that wasn't bruised.
"Get away from me!"
I screamed, refusing to submit to this monster ever again.
My defiance lit a fuse in him. He lunged forward, pinning me down with his full weight, and snarled, "Did you steal my yogurt? You greedy little bitch, can't keep your hands off anything!"
I wasn't strong enough to push him off. All I could do was sink my teeth into his arm as hard as I could.
He yelped in pain and let go.
"Filthy whore—"
He spat in my face, then hammered his fists into my body a few more times before his anger finally cooled. He left without closing the door.
I dragged my battered body across the floor, crawling to the storage cabinet in the corner of the living room.
Inside was a bottle of paraquat. Dad kept it for his plants.
I twisted off the cap. The smell was sharp enough to burn, but I didn't care. I tipped it back and poured it down my throat.
Then I crawled back to the basement and waited for death.
When I woke again, my body felt impossibly light.
The wounds on my face didn't hurt anymore. My throat wasn't raw. Everything felt weightless, as if I might float away.
I opened my eyes and saw my body in the darkness. She was curled up in the corner, perfectly still. No breath left in her.
My soul passed through the wall and drifted into the living room.
Mom and Dad were already asleep. Kevin was in his room playing video games. Not a single person had wondered whether I was alive or dead.
I floated to my folding cot on the balcony. Three years ago, when Kevin moved in with us so he could attend a closer school, my parents had generously handed him my bedroom. My sleeping spot became the balcony: a rickety folding cot that froze in winter and roasted in summer.
I couldn't sleep. I sat on the cot in silence the entire night, my mind circling a single thought: when Mom got up in the morning and realized I was gone, would she find my body?
Would she regret it? Would she feel even a shred of grief?
I laughed bitterly at myself.
Her greatest wish had always been for me to die sooner. Now that wish had come true. She was probably going to be thrilled.
I sat there until dawn bled through the windows. Mom emerged from her bedroom and walked into the kitchen.
I watched her prepare a full breakfast. My gaze swept the table.
She had set out three plates.
In this house, I never had my own plate. Every meal, I stood off to the side and waited for the three of them to finish eating. Only then did I get whatever scraps were left.
Years of malnutrition had stunted my growth. I was already eighteen, but I looked no older than a middle schooler.
Soon Kevin woke up too. He sat down with Mom and Dad, laughing and chatting over breakfast as if he were their real child.
It wasn't until every last bite was gone that Mom noticed I wasn't standing in my usual corner, watching them eat with hungry eyes.
"Where'd Sophie run off to?"
Dad glanced over at the balcony. No sign of me.
"Probably already left for school. Didn't she have that fight with you two yesterday?"
