Exiled by My Own Family

I woke up one evening to the sound of drawers opening and closing in the hallway.

My father never cleaned at night. When I stepped out of my room, I saw my stepmother

pulling my clothes from the dresser and tossing them into a trash bag. She didn't look

surprised to see me. She just smiled like she'd been waiting for this

moment. For years, she chipped away at me in small, calculated ways.

At family gatherings, she would casually bring up my lowest grades, reading them aloud

while her children snickered at the table. I would stare at my plate,

cheeks burning, waiting for my father to step in. He never did. He just sat there,