The Abandoned Son

My father's voice rang out, impatient. "Get in the car! If we're late, we'll miss Derek and Chloe's favorite restaurant."

He didn't even look at me.

My mother climbed in and pulled the door shut, glancing back at me for half a second. "Just grab a cab home."

The car peeled off before she'd even finished the sentence.

I felt my mouth twist into something like a smile — the bitter kind.

Home? Had I ever really belonged there?

For as long as I could remember, I'd been the extra one in that family. Derek came first, so of course he got the attention. Chloe was the youngest and the only girl, so of course she got spoiled. And I was the one nobody quite knew what to do with.

Derek was two years older than me, and once he'd decided he wanted his own room—and Chloe, being a girl, needed her own too—I ended up "making do" with the space under the stairs.

At first, my parents had felt guilty about it and tried to make it up to me. I always played the good son, told them it didn't matter, that I could sleep anywhere.

But being agreeable never bought me sympathy — it just made it easier for them to forget I existed. I didn't fight for anything, didn't cause trouble, so eventually they stopped factoring me into their plans at all.

Take this trip, for instance — the one to visit the family graves. My parents had driven all over town to pick up Derek and Chloe so the four of them could go together. The one person they hadn't bothered to swing by, even though I lived the closest, was me.

And the ride home? Don't even get me started. There'd been an empty seat in that car the whole time, and somehow it still wasn't for me.

A bitter ache settled in my chest. Why? If they didn't love me, why have me at all? Given the choice, I'd never have chosen to be born into this family.

A horn sounded behind me. A car pulled up alongside me.

"Ryan, why didn't you leave with Uncle Gerald and the others?"

It was Nathan Whitfield, my cousin. One look at my face and he seemed to understand everything he needed to.

"Get in. I'll take you home."

I didn't say a word the whole ride. I didn't know what to say — my miserable childhood? How little I mattered to them? The resentment sitting in my chest? None of it seemed worth putting into words.

We were almost home when Nathan spoke up. "Ryan, if nobody in this world loves you, loving yourself is enough."

Something in me let go. Why was I still dragging myself through the humiliation, begging them for scraps of cheap affection? I didn't want it anymore. I didn't want any of it.

…

The house was empty when I got home. I lay down on the cold, hard bed and stared blankly at the wall paneling under the stairs.

My phone rang. It was my mother. I picked up.

"You home yet?" she said. "We're still an hour out. Go take the bedding off the balcony — the stuff I hung out for your brother and sister — and make up their beds. They've had a long day, let them get to rest early…"

Something in me snapped. "What about me?" I cut in, my voice sharp.