My Family Ignored Me, So I Chose to Serve Her Country

When we went out to help my brother buy his car, he had his eye on one that cost over ninety grand.

For an ordinary family like ours, that was expensive.

But my parents didn't so much as blink. They just swiped the card.

Watching Dylan collect his new car, snapping photo after photo to show off online, I'd be lying if I said I felt nothing.

Maybe it dawned on my parents that they'd been a little too one-sided.

On the way out of the dealership, we passed a shoe store, and they bought me a pair. They went straight for the cheapest ones, too.

The clerk said they were a clearance pair, and the size was wrong for my feet.

They pinched, and it hurt to walk.

My father told the clerk, "These ones."

"Sir, your daughter's foot looks like it's a size bigger. These don't fit right, they'll be uncomfortable to wear. Why not pick another pair?"

"No need. New shoes are all like that. She'll break them in after a couple of wears."

And just like that, I got my "graduation gift."

A pair of clearance shoes that didn't fit.

Next to my brother's ninety-thousand-dollar car, the difference was staggering.

But I didn't cry, didn't make a scene, and I didn't ask them why they played favorites like this.

Because I knew making a fuss wouldn't change anything.

Then the weekend came.

Dylan was off, so my parents took him to the next town over to go bungee jumping and ride a yacht.

Once again, they left me at home.

I only knew because they'd posted in the "Family Love" group chat.

Dylan put up a dozen photos of himself bungee jumping in a row.

Then he made a point of tagging me. "Sis, good thing you didn't come, or you'd have wet your pants for sure."

"This bungee jump is seriously terrifying. You drop off the cliff and your soul goes chasing after you."

I replied with a flat "oh."

My mother tagged me. "Don't be upset, honey. Mom and Dad just forgot about you. Next time we go out, we'll definitely bring you along."

"It's fine."

I was used to their frequent "forgetting."

My uncle, my aunt, the whole crowd of them chattered away in the group without stopping.

I didn't say another word.

By evening, dark clouds rolled in and rain came pouring down.

Dylan called me.

"Sis, are you home? Is it raining hard there? Close my window for me, would you? And while you're at it, wash my socks. I left in a rush and forgot to wash them."

My parents took the phone from him.

My mother reminded me, "Watch my potted plants. Don't let the rain kill them."

My father said, "My chess set's out on the balcony. Remember to bring it in."

They remembered the unwashed socks, worried about the plants getting rained on, feared the chess set soaking through.

No one asked whether I'd eaten, whether I was hungry.

In their eyes, every blade of grass, every leaf in that house, maybe even a single tissue, mattered more than I did.

Maybe it was because I'd stayed silent and hadn't answered.

My parents kept pushing me for a reply.

And I just answered flatly, "I'm not home."