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But when it’s him, I always feel small. No matter what.

“Don’t ever say that again. Fucking stupid little girl, you’re just like her.”

Just like her.

The words echo in my skull, louder than the slap. For a second, I can’t breathe. My throat burns and the kitchen tilts.

Am I just like her? Is that a sin to be the daughter of your own mother and carry everything she had to carry?

Isn’t it normal?

I try to speak, but my voice cracks. “I am not her.”

He scoffs, “You’ve got the same crazy in you. Same stupid blue fucking eyes, same stupid ideas. I should’ve known you’d end up useless or dead. AGAIN, JUST LIKE HER!”

Useless.

I stare at the floor because if I meet his eyes, I’ll crumble. I always felt useless, even if Milo says otherwise. Even if Edna and Hayzel say otherwise. Even when Damien says otherwise.

I will always feel useless.

Because somehow, a father’s hate always echoes louder than anyone’s love. And his cruel words weigh more than anyone else’s kindness.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I whisper.

She was always my mom, even after he destroyed her. She was still my mom.

He steps closer. “Asma ruined everything and now you⁠—”

“STOP!” The word breaks out before I can stop it. My hands are shaking, and my heart is beating so fast I can hear it. “You don’t get to say her name. You broke her! You⁠—”

He grabs my arm, hard. “Watch your mouth.”

I’m tired. I’m tired of explaining life to a wall. I’m tired of being weak.

“You broke her,” I repeat, my voice trembling, “and you’re still breaking everything she loved.”

He lets go of me and looks around. For a second, I think maybe I’ve gone too far. But I can’t stop now. It’s here, in my rage, that guilt I carry every fucking day because I was too young to stop him from hitting her. The hate I felt toward her when she would take his defense even when I was fighting for her. I carry it everyday, in everything I do.

The sorrow I feel looking at myself in the mirror and seeing how damaged I am because he was supposed to protect me but never did.

“You think I don’t remember?” My voice wobbles because I can’t even hate him loudly enough. “You think I forgot what you let them do? To your own daughter, dad… to me!”

He freezes and I take a shaky breath before continuing, “You saw them. You knew. You heard me call for you and you didn’t come. You never came.”

His face twists before he talks, “You don’t know what you’re saying⁠—”

“YES, I DO!” The scream tears out of me.

My chest aches because the memories, the hands, they never left, they never truly disappeared. “You knew! You fucking knew what your friend did and kept doing for so long and you let it happen! You were supposed to make this home safe, and you… you let the monsters in and became the worst of them all!”

My knees feel weak and I cover my face with my hands, crying so hard it hurts.

I feel like a kid, letting out tears that shake your whole body. The ones that belong to a little girl who still doesn’t understand why love hurts this much.

I still cry like her. Maybe I never stopped being her.

I keep hiding my pain, like feeling broken is something I should apologize for. Like the fault is mine for shaking in front of the man who was supposed to be my safe place and somehow became my own hell.